


The Wolf Of Casterly Rock

by WickedTheRedHorse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Lyanna Stark Lives, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17453342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedTheRedHorse/pseuds/WickedTheRedHorse
Summary: The solemn girl he met the day before their wedding didn't match up with the stories he'd heard of the she-wolf of Winterfell. His little wife's wild looks seemed somewhat strange when paired with her subdued personality. She spoke clearly but quietly, and though she repeated her courtesies, if a little coldly, she did not smile, nor did those words sound natural from her mouth. She was her brother Ned in every respect, solemn, serious and reserved. And it didn't suit her one bit."Just count yourself lucky I won't put up the same fight for you I did for him," She tossed her hair slightly, dark curls dancing in the warm candlelight, an old, proud defiance that was clearly familiar to her returning. It suited her better than the dead shell she had been up until this point. Jaime said nothing. He didn't doubt for a moment that this woman had put up a hell of a fight.*If Lyanna Stark survived but was married off to Jaime Lannister. Jon is raised at Winterfell as Ned's sister's bastard, everyone knows his parentage. Not a RhaegarxLyanna story; though she went with him of her own free will, she quickly realised her mistake but he wouldn't let her go. So effectively he did rape and imprison her as thought.





	1. The Wolf Of Casterly Rock Part I

 

*

She was a fierce thing, for all her appearances at the ceremony. Jaime hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting from a girl whose kidnapping had started a rebellion and ended in the downfall of a dynasty, but whatever he imagined, Lyanna Stark wasn't it. She wasn't especially beautiful, considering how many great lords had gone to war for her, though she wasn'tunattractive. Her dark curls, long face and grey eyes leant her a certain hard, wild northern beauty, but she couldn't even begin to compare to Cersei; it was likening a candle flame to the sun itself. Jaime didn't really care what his wife-to-be looked like, she wasn't his twin sister, wasn't his other half, and never would be.

The solemn, quiet girl he met the day before their wedding - held shortly after Robert and Cersei's - did not match up with the stories he'd heard of the she-wolf of Winterfell. His little wife's wild looks seemed somewhat strange when paired with her subdued personality. She spoke clearly but quietly, and though she repeated her courtesies, if a little coldly, she did not smile, nor did those words sound natural from her mouth. She was her brother Ned in every respect, solemn, serious and reserved. And it didn't suit her one bit.

Jaime wondered if she'd been like that before the war. Gods knew he'd changed enough over the past three years from the horrors of guarding the Mad King. She'd spent the same time completely at the mercy of Rhaegar, who'd taken her from her family, forcefully impregnated her with his bastard son, then gone off to get himself killed at the Trident. Said bastard had then been taken from her after her rescue, and was due to be sent to be raised in the cold, frozen north with his uncle, the equally cold, frozen Lord Stark. Truly he didn't blame the girl for looking so empty. That didn't mean he had any patience with her, however, because Jaime was angry. No, furious. He had wasted three years guarding a madman, a cruel sadistic bastard who was protected by the name Targaryen. No man had deserved death more than Aerys; Jaime had killed him, stopping the whole fucking city and his father's entire army from going up in flames, but people shamed him for it. Called him Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, man without honour. And thus he had been dismissed from the Kingsguard, with not only the support of many of the rebellion leaders - Ned Stark foremost amongst them - but also his own father. Jaime knew his father had never wanted him to become a Kingsguard, had resigned his post as Hand of the King in fury when Aerys appointed him, but he stupidly underestimated how far the man would go to get his heir back. Jaime was angry and humiliated. No doubt his name would go down in the White Book as the worst knight in history. _Ser Jaime Lannister; joined the brotherhood to fuck his sister in case she ever became queen, killed the king he was sworn to protect with his life, then became the first Kingsguard to be released from his vows_. What a legacy to be proud of.

That was another matter. Cersei. He'd joined to be close to her, only to separate them entirely. For months he'd dreamed of the living hell in the Red Keep all being over, of being back with his sister, of Aerys being dead, and finally, _finally_ that had happened. But all it meant was they were switching places. Now Cersei actually was the queen, married to that oaf Robert Baratheon, Jaime was to be sent back to Casterly Rock with the girl the king desired but couldn't have. Robert now hated him, for having what he couldn't - Jon Arryn and every other lord had been very insistent on the fact that the new King could not marry the whore of Rhaegar, mother of his bastard - and Jaime would likely only see his beloved sister enough times to count on one hand ever again.

Lyanna clearly wasn't best pleased with the match either, though after what the last man had done to her Jaime couldn't imagine she wanted any match at all. That was how he felt. He hadn't got anything against her personally, yet, just the fact she was to marry him. She'd said the wedding vows, dressed in a Stark grey gown in the northern style, dark curls flowing down her back. Her brother had given her away - Jaime had watched her father die, after all - and Jaime had fastened the red Lannister bridal cloak around her shoulders. There was no love between them. They said their words mechanically, both only there because of the expectations of others, whilst her brother glowered at him, as if he hadn't agreed to the match his foster father Arryn suggested. Jaime glared back. _You might call me Kingslayer, Stark, yet that won't stop the fact that I'll fuck your sister tonight_. He didn't relish in that prospect, like another man might. He desired no one but Cersei; Lyanna Stark could've been the most beautiful woman in Westeros and he would have still only wanted his sister. He doubted he'd ever get the chance to sleep with her again. The thought sent hot rage through him, and pressing sadness, which was only heightened by the memory of their last conversation the previous night. Go marry your northern whore, she had said coldly, shutting the door in his face, and no matter how much he had pleaded that he could still marry her, that they could run to Essos and live freely, she had still eyed him with nothing but scorn. For the first time, the traitorous thought came to his mind that she didn't love him as much as he loved her. _We are two halves of the same whole, sister, as you're so fond of saying, but it seems you've forgotten._

Jaime remembered that moment as he stood before his new wife in their newly shared chambers. She was down to her smallclothes, him wearing nothing but his breeches, having both just endured the bedding ceremony. She was panting somewhat, breathing heavily though trying to hide it; he had seen the wild look in her eyes as those men carried her through the door, leering and groping. For a moment they had locked eyes and she had looked like a cornered animal. But then the door shut, the bawdy comments and laughter died away, and now that blank look was back. Neither of them said a word, though they both knew what they were meant to do. Expected to do.

"Go on then," Her voice wasn't completely mechanical now, as it had been in front everyone. No, now it held a hint of bitterness, and resignation, like she couldn't be bothered to keep up the front any longer. "I am your wife, to do with as you please,”

"That's not true," He replied. "If I could do with you what I pleased I would send you to your frozen north for the rest of your days and never have to see your face again," She laughed at that, humourlessly, too bitter by far for sixteen. But then, he was only eighteen himself and any dreams or ideals he had once held were now crushed to nothing by cynicism and hard reality.

"If only," She said. "But if I've learnt anything, husband, it's that we rarely get to do what we want," He caught a glint of something in her eyes, but it was gone as soon as he saw it. It might have just been a flicker of the dim candlelight.

"You don't seem very afraid," Jaime remarked. "For one so unwilling," She raised a darkly amused eyebrow.

"You forget I've done this before," She said. "I'm well used to not being willing. This way's just more acceptable to everyone, as they all agreed on it beforehand. Just count yourself lucky I won't put up the same fight for you that I did for him," She tossed her hair slightly, dark curls dancing in the warm candlelight, an old, proud defiance that was clearly familiar to her returning. It suited her better than the dead shell she had been up until this point. Jaime said nothing. He didn't doubt for a moment that this woman had put up a hell of a fight. She tilted her head slightly, stepping closer. "You've done this before too," She said, a little curiously, but then laughed that bitter laugh again. "As you're not eager, and you don't strike me as the type for nerves, you must care for her, whoever she is. This shall be quite the experience then. Both of us unwilling. You can call me by her name if it makes you feel better," Jaime was suddenly angry again. Memories of Cersei, how cold she had been to him, and now this girl daring to speak to him of her. Without thinking his hand snapped out and grabbed Lyanna's wrist, pulling her roughly against him. She stared at him for a moment, breathing shallow, the same anger that ran hot through him coursing through her too. It was like she was daring him. _Go on. Do it_. Prove himself worthy of the hate she feels to everyone and everything. He let go, and she didn't move.

"I won't call you her name," Jaime said lowly instead. "If you won't call me his," The thought of being called Rhaegar was... distasteful. A wolffish grin - amused, hollow, and all teeth - spread across her face, and he couldn't help but grin humourlessly himself.

"Understood," He pressed his lips to hers, and she matched him.

 

*

 

They left for Casterly Rock the next day. Robert was still angry that Jaime had Lyanna whilst he was stuck with Cersei - if only he knew Jaime would've traded in a heartbeat - and Lord Tywin wanted Jaime back at the Rock as soon as possible. For Cersei's benefit, in a fit of newfound defiance, Jaime made sure to appear at least friendly and comfortable with his new wife, who eyed him sharply and with some degree of confusion when he placed a hand on her lower back as they walked to the courtyard. She said nothing, however, which he was glad for. Her front was up again, as she thanked the king politely but blankly, smiling blandly at Cersei, who wore a smile of her own. One with barely concealed daggers.

Lyanna took one look at the grand wheelhouse that had been prepared for the new Lady Lannister and made a small derisive scoffing noise, her mask flickering with scorn. Ned Stark, there to bid goodbye to his sister - and also holding her bastard son (the boy could've been his if Jaime hadn't known better, they looked so alike) - seemed amused by this, smiling a small nostalgic smile to himself in the background as stablehands hurried to find his stone faced sister a horse to ride.

"Apologies, milady Lannister," A nervous looking groom approached leading a large steel grey destrier, more suited to a knight than a lady. Lyanna rounded on him, attention almost instantly going to the horse. "This is the only one left who'll make the journey at pace," Jaime considered stepping in, to tell the girl to just sit in the goddamned wheelhouse and not delay them any longer, but for whatever reason stayed back, wanting to watch how this turned out. Lyanna just eyed the horse up critically, then placed a hand on its neck, rubbing it up and down. For a moment, the faintest of smiles graced her lips, then vanished.

"That'll do," She said simply. "Thank you," The groom gaped at her, even more so as she put her foot in the stirrup and mounted the large horse herself, springing easily into the saddle and settling like she was born there, one leg either side with her skirts bunched up around her pale legs.

"Lya," Ned Stark said a little reprovingly. "Shouldn't you - " She eyed the man icily and he broke off with a sigh; he clearly knew when to give up. "Here," He passed the baby up to her. Jaime hadn't seen her with the boy before, and was surprised - he didn't know why - by how carefully she handled the child, holding him close and whispering something into his tiny ear. He saw a dark look cross her face as she handed the bastard back to her brother. Anger and sadness. But that was the ultimatum Robert had given her - never see the boy again, or keep him and condemn him to death. And that was the man who claimed to love her. _What a sweet, romantic ballad that would make._

"You look after him," She said to her brother, voice cracking slightly. "Don't let him be treated bad. Don't let him come to any harm. You raise my son to be a good boy. A good man, like you. Promise me, Ned," Stark nodded solemnly, covering his sister's small hand with his own as a wordless vow. Jaime found himself inexplicably looking away.

Then Stark stepped back and Lyanna dug her heels into the destrier's sides. The great horse reared, causing cries of alarm from his men, but a reckless, grim smile had overtaken his wife's expression and she merely sat the rear before kicking again, sending the horse off at a fast canter across the courtyard and out of the gate, enormous iron-shod hooves clattering on the cobbles. The guards hastened to catch up. Jaime nodded to Cersei and Father - who was staying in the city to take his position of Master of Coin (which he was far from pleased with but it gave him considerable influence at least, and he would surely work his way upon a matter of months) - in farewell, getting no response from either of them, before kicking his own horse forward and following the rest of the party.

 

*

 

It took little over two weeks to reach Casterly Rock. They stayed in inns, minor holdfasts, lords keeps, but his wife seemed to prefer sleeping under the stars as opposed to in a feather bed. Even when they did get a room for the night - they often had to share, due to there not being space otherwise, and Jaime wasn't as spoilt as to insist one of the men give up their rooms so he didn't have to share - she insisted on sleeping with the window open despite the spring air being bitingly cold. Where his men huddled under furs at night, Lyanna didn't seem to feel the chill the same way. Perhaps it was true that the Starks had ice in their veins.

They reached Casterly Rock in the early evening on the sixteenth day since they'd left King's Landing. Despite herself, Lyanna's eyes had widened at the sight of the great castle, and Jaime had smirked.

"A little more impressive than Winterfell?" He asked her. They'd conversed on the journey, of course they had. It made no sense to travel in silence. She was guarded as ever, often as blank as before, but for the most part she seemed to relax a little the further they got from the city and the people in it. He got more hints of her old defiance, and she often showed a wry humour much like his own that he found himself appreciating. All in all, she wasn't a bad travelling companion. She seemed used to conversing with men either way, and cursed like the best of them. This amused many of the soldiers, who after a while seemed to forget she was their lady as they ate together, rode together, made crude jokes together. She also didn't hesitate to act like the wolf on her family sigil whenever anyone got too friendly, or pissed her off at all. That gave the men a healthy wariness and respect of her. After she reduced a young knight almost to tears, after his hands wandered helping her onto her horse, there were a few joking mutters - out of earshot, of course - that it was Rhaegar they felt bad for now.

"Yes," She said in reply to his question. "And ten times as grand. But I'd still rather be a days ride from home than here,”

 

*

 

Tyrion had been there to greet them proudly as host, with uncles Kevan, Tygett and Gerion standing beside him along with their wives and Jaime's growing hoard of cousins; Lancel was walking now, twins Martyn and Willem were in the arms of nursemaids and Tyrek was being held by his mother. Jaime had been genuinely happy to see his little brother, who had grown since the last time he'd seen him over three years ago; the small boy of seven had become a slightly less small boy of ten. Jaime had dismounted his horse and gone to hug his brother, lifting him off the ground and making him laugh as he had done before. Behind him, Lyanna dismounted herself and approached without invitation, lowering her hood and turning all heads her way.

"This is the Lady Lyanna," Jaime said, slightly grudging that she was a part of the family reunion, waving a careless hand her way. He couldn't bring himself to say the words 'my wife'. On the road, it had been easy to pretend she wasn't. Kevan greeted her with a kind nod, Tygett with a stiff bow, Gerion with a charming grin and a kiss on her hand making her smile a little sadly; Jaime remembered seeing Brandon Stark make a similar gesture to more than one lady at Harrenhal. Dorna and Darlessa, his uncles' wives, had been introduced in turn. Lyanna had nodded to each one. Jaime noticed how she greeted Tyrion exactly the same as the others - as though she barely saw him - seeming to not notice the obvious fact that he was a dwarf. His sweet, friendly wife was guided to her rooms by a servant with scarcely another word to any of them. Which suited him just fine.

*

 

Jaime barely saw Lyanna in the next week or so. She kept to her rooms mostly, doing gods knows what. Many time he saw her she was just stood staring out of the window; her bedroom windows faced north. He himself spent most of his time in the practice yard. Training didn't help his anger like it had when he was a boy, but then he had Cersei. No amount of knocking guardsmen and squires to the ground would help his rage at being the first knight dismissed from the Kingsguard, at losing Cersei, at being saddled with a lordship he didn't want and a broken, sad wife as cold as ice.

One morning, so early the sun had scarcely risen, he was training on a dummy when he caught a glimpse of a dark figure out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Lyanna watching him, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"I got bored. I always w - used to watch my brothers fight," She said by way of explanation. "I used to try and join them. Until my father stopped it and sent me to learn to sew," He caught the smallest hint of that derisive scorn again. Jaime paused for a moment, considering her, before grabbing a smallish tourney sword from a nearby rack. He threw it to her, and she caught it, giving him a confused look. He snorted slightly.

"Good start," She looked at him in mild disbelief.

“Seriously?"

"Go on," He gestured to her to move. That wolffish grin returned and she struck immediately. He deflected it easily. She was faster than he expected, though was clearly no swordsman. Her attacks were fairly weak and predictable, and she grew more and more frustrated when she couldn't land a hit on him. Which was fairly amusing. It wasn't surprising really, considering she was wearing a dress. She might have messed around with her brothers, but she had clearly had no proper training. She wasn't bad though, considering. Better than many new squires.

Eventually he put her out of her misery and flicked the sword out of her hand. He thought that was the end of it, that the fight was over. He didn't expect her to then act like a true wolf and throw herself at him, literally, catching him off guard and sending them both tumbling to the floor. He let out an incredulous breath of laughter as she wrestled with his sword arm, kicking and punching. But he was far stronger, no matter how savagely she fought - which was very, he would certainly have his share of cuts and bruises (as would she, no way was he taking an attack like that lying down) - and roughly wrestled her off of him, trapping her securely in his arms as he knelt, her back to him as she struggled and squirmed. His sword was then at her throat and she stopped, breathing heavily. Her hair was a birdsnest, her body was sweating and when she turned round to peer at him he saw her pale face was streaked with dust and dirt. But her steel grey eyes were what caught his attention. They seemed truly alive for the first time since he'd met her.

"You're vicious," He said, slightly awed, feeling the sting of the many minor wounds she'd given him. She didn't seem to mind the ones he'd given her, and laughed breathily, chest heaving against his arms.

"I've got three brothers," She said by way of explanation, then the smile dropped and she corrected herself. "Had three brothers," Her good humour vanished as quickly as it had come. Jaime let her go, and she turned to face him. "Thanks. For letting me fight," She said somewhat awkwardly. "You didn't have to,”

"If only other men gave their wives a sword," He said sarcastically. "I'd rather fight you like that out here than with words in there. This I understand," She smiled faintly.

"I'll remember that,”

They dined together for the first time that night. Or rather, she came and joined the family for the first time as they ate together in the hall. Jaime noticed how no matter how many times she was offered wine, she refused it. Having drunk quite a lot himself, he found himself asking her about it as he walked her back to her chambers after.

"I don't trust wine," She'd said simply, then hesitated. "When he realised I wasn't going to stop fighting him, he started slipping sweetsleep in my drink whenever he wanted to..." Jaime raised an eyebrow as she broke off, glowering at nothing.

"And people say Rhaegar would have made a wonderful King," He said lightly. She laughed in dark agreement.

 

*

 

Several weeks later, Jaime was walking past the library and heard laughing from inside. Curious, he entered the cavernous room and saw his brother and his wife together before the fire. He immediately wondered if he was having some sort of strange dream, because the sight that met his eyes was beyond ridiculous. Lyanna was stood on her hands against the wall, trying to stay upright as her skirts slowly slid over her head. Tyrion was laughing madly, and she righted herself just before revealing far too much in front of the ten year old boy. Her clothes were crumpled, her face red, her hair a mess but she was grinning, as Tyrion looked ready to piss himself laughing as he turned around to see Jaime standing there looking bemused. Lyanna's grin grew wolffish as she saw him.

"Your brother is quite the talented teacher," She said. "I'd never done acrobatics in my life, but now look," She promptly stood on her hands again, walking a few shaking steps before collapsing in a heap as Tyrion cackled, looking at his brother's incredulous expression as his wife acted years younger than the almost seventeen year old she was. Lyanna stood up and grinned proudly, taking a small bow.

"Go on," She nudged the little boy. "Show him how it's really done," Tyrion eagerly obliged, skilfully walking on his hands before finishing with a somersault, earning an applause from Lyanna.

"Did Uncle Gerion teach you that?" Jaime asked, amused. Tyrion grinned.

"He did," He said. "How did you know?" Jaime, a fit of recklessness overcoming him, promptly did the same, walking on his hands for a few strides, making Tyrion clap his hands and start laughing again. Lyanna's wolffish grin returned.

"You're better than him," She nudged Tyrion, who looked delighted. "He didn't do a somersault," She was quite probably insane, his wife, he decided as she threw herself down on the rug before the fire, lounging without a care. Tyrion did the same, and Jaime found himself following them.

"The Lannisters of Casterly Rock," He said dryly. "Practically a circus troupe. Father would love that,"

"He could be a lion tamer," Tyrion said, amused by the thought. "With a whip and a big hat," His little brother grinned wickedly. "And Cersei could be the bearded lady," Jaime laughed loudly.

 

*

 

Some point in the coming months, Aunt Genna had decided it would be appropriate to commission a family portrait, of Jaime and his wife. Apparently his parents had had one, Genna had shown them, though judging by his father's expression in it he thought it was waste of time. Jaime wasn't exactly enthused by the idea either, Lyanna even less so, but his aunt was hard to say no to. _You'll thank me later_ , she'd said, _when you're old, fat, grey and want to remember being young and beautiful_. This found the two of them stood side by side as the irritating Oldtown painter fussed over them, seeming to forget who he was talking to, or perhaps just not caring, such was his assurance in his own skill.

"No, stand closer together," The little man snapped. Jaime just glared at him. Whilst he and his wife did not dislike each other, and even enjoyed the other's company on occasion - they were, daresay, friends, especially when they trained together - they were far from close. They hadn't so much as kissed since their wedding night. All their physical contact came from trying their best to knock each other to the ground in training. He suspected Lyanna would snap his hand right off if he dared do what the painter had suggested and put his arm around her waist. "You both look too wooden, too stiff,”

"I thought it was a painting," Jaime said. "They're not supposed to move," Lyanna snorted beside him, and he smirked.

"That is it!" The painting exclaimed, making them both jump. "Keep that look, my lord,”

"Arrogant, self satisfied ponce?" Lyanna said slyly, having peered around to see his expression. "Should be easy enough,”

"My lady!" The painter gasped dramatically in shock. Lyanna turned to him with a raised eyebrow, tossing her hair, only for the man to quickly stumble over his words, again, and start painting hurriedly. "That - stay with that expression Lady Lyanna, it is perfect, it truly shows you at your best,”

"And what is that?" Lyanna asked him, with disdain to rival Lord Tywin.

"Sadistic wolf bitch," Jaime suggested.

"That look..." The man said distractedly, furiously painting. It looked like he had a twitch in his hand. "Scorn... and pride, like... no man... is good enough. Or ever could be," Jaime laughed loudly and his wife scowled.

As they left the airy tower room the painter had been given for his work hours later, Lyanna surprised Jaime greatly by turning to face him and gripping the front of his tunic with both hands.

"No man is good enough?" She seethed, a wild look in her eyes that she'd seen many a time before. "Who does he take me for, an arrogant princess like your sister? I'll show him," And with that she promptly kissed him, roughly yet thoroughly.

He was so taken aback that he didn't react for a second or so, but then responded with the same vigour she did; he had not been with a woman for months, he told himself, and Lyanna was his wife. He didn't even mind that she was doing it out of anger, to prove a point. He was doing much the same. _I hope you're happy with your kingly husband, sweet sister._

"I'll come to your chambers tonight," Lyanna murmured in his ear after breaking the kiss. It wasn't an invitation for him to come to hers. This was on her terms, for sure.

"Do I get a choice?" He asked. She rolled her eyes, but grinned grudgingly.

"Are you saying no?”

"Who am I to deny my lovely lady wife?" He smiled his most dazzling smile, which he knew would not have the usual effect on her; instead of swooning like most ladies, it made her defensive. He'd know, he'd tried it before.

"Fuck off," She scowled at him.

"At least _I_ smile," She was silent for a moment, and in that time he had an uncharacteristic flash of concern - was that pushing their fragile friendship too far? - only for her lips to twitch.

"He was a moody bastard, wasn't he," She admitted. Jaime laughed, with a hint of relief.

"I think they call it melancholy,”

"I call it fucking miserable,”

 

*

 

Jaime waited for her in his chambers that evening, feeling some level of anticipation, more than he had expected. She came in wearing the same dress she'd worn to dinner - that steely shade of grey would've looked drab on most women and somehow suited her - but her hair was loose from its previous rough plait. He was about to say something, not offer wine because she wouldn't accept, something else, but she cut him off by striding across the room and kissing him with even more intensity than she had on the staircase earlier. He didn't protest, twining his fingers in her hair, the other hand around her waist, pulling her tight against him. She in turn pulled him by the front of his tunic to the bed, and they sat down on the edge without breaking the kiss, her in his lap. She gasped slightly as he trailed kisses down her neck, and helped him unlace the top half of her dress, but when his mouth moved lower to her newly exposed breasts she pulled away slightly.

"What are you doing?" She asked. He looked at her, a little surprised, then he suddenly understood. He wasn't sure whether to laugh; strangely, he felt a little irritated, and not at her.

"Rhaegar just fucked you, didn't he," He said bluntly. "In, out, done soon as possible. Probably quite quickly," He couldn't help but add. She glared at him, understanding the jibe and disliking his crude description. She didn't understand his point, however, and he could tell that irritated her. She did like to know everything.

"What else is there to do?" He raised an eyebrow. " _What_? Don't look at me like that, in and out is all _you_ did on our wedding night," She took on the expression of a petulant child - Jaime imagined her father used to spoil her as a girl - and he couldn't help but grin.

"Imagine that," He practically purred, smugly. "Lyanna Stark, as innocent as a rose-cheeked maiden," He said, earning him a sharp slap on the chest. He just laughed. "As sweet as a Reach girl in summer," She hit him again. "As pure as a septa who - “

"Stop mocking me," She said, but was biting back a slightly embarrassed smile despite herself. He shook his head, enjoying having one over on his little wife. She hit him harder.

"You're violent, that's what you really are," He said, falling back to lie down without warning and pulling Lyanna with him, making her yelp in surprise. Before she could protest, he was on top of her, trapping her hands and stopping her abusing him any further. She wriggled underneath him, to no avail, he wouldn't move, and when he just laughed again she childishly stuck out her tongue. It wasn't hard to understand how he often forgot she was a mother.

"You deserve it," She muttered, eyeing him warily as he resumed where he'd left off before, kissing her breasts and moving down lower, pulling her dress down as he went, and her eyes widened. "Really, what are you - " She gasped as he reached between her legs. "Jaime, what - _Jaime_ ," Hearing her say his name, indecently like that, only encouraged him and before long his wife was gasping and twitching, legs wrapped tightly around him. It took longer than it would've with Cersei for Lyanna to gasp his name and shudder in pleasure at her release, but Jaime knew his sister far better than his wife. He knew every inch of Cersei, as she knew every inch of him. They'd had years together, not just one mediocre night. But Lyanna wasn't used to this, and that was somehow thrilling in itself.

As she lay there in the aftermath of her release, he edged back up to face her, kissing her lightly on the lips and pulling back, smirking. She looked at him through half lidded eyes, lips slightly parted, breathing heavily.

"'What else is there to do?' she asks," He put on a high pitched voice and a northern accent to mimic her own, and a breath of laughter rippled through her. He had never laughed when he was with Cersei, he realised, and neither had she. Not like this.

"Arrogant... Southron ponce," She spoke in insults, though there was mirth in her voice. "You think you're so clever,”

"Come on, you enjoyed that," He said in his own voice. "It certainly sounded like it. 'Jaime... oh, _Jaime_ '," He mimicked her again and she smacked him - again. At this rate his chest would be mottled with bruises, but he grinned regardless.

"Fuck off," She said lazily.

"Why don't you?”

"Because you're fucking heavy, and lying on top of me, as you know full well,”

"My apologies, do you want me to move?" She fixed him with a look, and there was silence for a long moment, the smiles falling off both of their faces, before she slowly pulled his face down to hers and they kissed once more. This kiss was fiercer, and they couldn't seem to get close enough. Hands were everywhere, and both of them groaned slightly when he pulled her into his lap, wrapped her legs around his waist and slowly entered her. After watching her for a few moments - she had winced in expectation of pain that never came - he began to move, and soon both were rocking their hips in time with each other. He surprised Lyanna again, by flipping them over so she was on top. She seemed unsure at first, so he grabbed her hips and moved her himself, but she soon took over, which she seemed to enjoy a great deal. He finished when she did for the second time, and after she collapsed against his chest, just lying there for several minutes with a leg draped over him as both of them got their breath back. Then she tilted her face up to him.

"Why haven't we done that before?" That was a good question.

 

*

 

He didn't love her. And she didn't love him. But there was friendship there, which was only building, and, coupled with their nights together, Jaime could not complain. What he liked about Lyanna was that she didn't care about what people thought of her. Cersei was constantly worried about looking her best, appearing powerful, strong and proud, always wanting to give the right impression no matter how much she would deny caring about the opinions of the sheep (his father's analogy). His wife, however, would happily appear at dinner in her training clothes - the fact she didn't care what people whispered about the heir to Casterly Rock teaching his wife to use a sword in the first place said everything - and if she ever heard anyone muttering about the 'Dragon's Whore' she would simply laugh in their faces.

Despite this unsavoury title, his wife was very popular amongst the smallfolk of Lannisport. On her regular rides out on horseback, she would often visit the city and endear herself to the people by simply talking to them, making conversation, like a friend would instead of a noble lady. She said that's what they'd done in the North, and didn't see any reason not to do so in the Westerlands. Recently she'd started giving out small favours; the occasional coin to a beggar, offering an orphan a job in the kitchens of the Rock, paying for a blacksmith's burial when his widow needed the money.

Of course, the world did not just consist of Casterly Rock and Lannisport. Soon the invitation came, requesting their presence in King's Landing to celebrate the birth of Prince Steffon, first child of the new King and Queen. Jaime had received the news numbly. He thought he would be devastated at the thought of Cersei bearing Baratheon's children, and though some part of him was, he found himself not nearly as distressed as he imagined. He was somehow... separate from it. Like it didn't matter nearly as much as it should’ve.

Needless to say, Lyanna was not pleased to hear they were going to King's Landing. Though she was now no longer the icy woman she had been when they married - at least not most of the time, she had her moments - there were still times when Jaime caught her gazing sadly out of the window or into the distance, the picture of melancholy with her solemn expression. He'd learned not to bother her in those moments, and she'd probably rather die that talk to him of all people about it, but it just went show how she had far from forgotten the events of the past. She had a son, he had to keep reminding himself, a son who she would never know.

The day before they were due to leave, Lyanna disappeared. She wasn't at dinner, her horse was still in its stable so she wasn't on one of her rides and soon the whole castle was looking for her. A guardsman ran up to Jaime, yelling that she was in the Godswood - a rarely used part of the castle, that Lyanna occasionally visited but not often enough for that to be the first place he'd look for her - and Jaime followed. He saw his wife knelt before the heart tree, a weirwood with a commanding, almost haughty expression, head bowed, and then realised with some shock that she was crying, tears falling from her eyes and onto the ground before her. She didn't look round at the sounds of people. He sent the guard away, unsure of what to do - he had little experience with crying women, he could count the number of times he'd seen Cersei sincerely cry on his right hand, and he'd never seen Lyanna shed so much as a tear before - so settled for kneeling beside her in front of the tree, not saying a word. This seemed to be the right thing to do, for a few minutes after his legs started to ache she spoke without looking at him.

"They died three years ago today," She said, voice thick, then she trailed off into nonsensical mutters, of which he could pick out only a few clear words. "... all my fault..." Jaime frowned. He remembered the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark all too well. Pretty hard to forget.

"You got kidnapped by a prince and a Kingsguard," He said. "Which yes, ended in the deaths of your brother and father. But how was that your fault? It wasn't like you could've stopped them. _I'd_ be hard pressed to beat Arthur Dayne, and no offence but you'd even struggle to beat any of my pisspoor replacements to the Kingsguard," She looked at him then, her grey eyes wild, bloodshot and her pale face gaunt. It was like she hadn't even heard him; he'd been expecting at least a glare for that last remark.

"You don't understand," Was all she said. After that, he couldn't get another word out of her. Perhaps his comforting skills were lacking. Perhaps there was more to it.

 

*

 

The next day, it was like the incident in the Godswood never happened. Lyanna didn't mention it and neither did Jaime. She smiled as usual, japed with the men as usual, hugged Tyrion goodbye (Father had forbidden him from coming with them) and mocked Jaime as mercilessly as she always did, clearly wanting normalcy. Jaime followed her example, giving as good as he got without concerning himself that she might start crying again anytime soon. He didn't believe she'd cry in public, anyway.

The ride to the city was easy enough. Just them and a dozen mounted guardsmen made for quick travel; Lyanna packed light for a woman, all her belongings she was taking fit into the - admittedly large and many - saddlebags of her grey destrier, which she'd insisted on keeping for her own after arriving at the Rock despite there being a dozen palfreys and rounceys far more suited for a lady. But somehow, even though a lady was what she was, they didn't seem as suited to her as that big strong horse.

Cersei's cold glare was fixed on both of them for the entire duration of their stay. But Jaime had nothing more to say to her. She'd made her choice, she couldn't have it both ways.

His sister's viciousness only increased when the news of Lyanna's condition was made public. Jaime hadn't even known himself before they arrived in King's Landing. However, he had been watching Lyanna dressing - they shared a room, it was unavoidable - and noticed that her flat belly was definitely far rounder than usual. She had recently been quite sick, then they'd been travelling, so he hadn't had as much of a chance to see her bare as before, but now he couldn't help but notice.

"You're getting fat," He said idly. His wife turned around to look at him, unimpressed.

"Fuck off," He grinned, not really caring but knowing it would rile her if he pointed it out. "I'm pregnant, you twit," His grin dropped.

His father had been grimly satisfied. Cersei, on the other hand... best not discussed. Robert too looked mutinous when he was told the news. They were scarcely out of the room before they were hearing the King bellowing to Jon Arryn about 'that kingslaying Lannister cunt fucking _my_ Lyanna'. Jaime had raised an eyebrow at her and she had scowled.

After that, Lyanna had kept as far from Robert as possible, which made Jaime oddly angry. At the king, not her. Robert's lecherous glances towards his wife were far from hidden, and Jaime could do fuck all about it unless he wanted to push the man into leaping at him with that great ugly warhammer he still insisted on keeping beside him. That was why Jaime took _great_ pleasure in crowning Lyanna his Queen of Love and Beauty in front of the whole court after winning the joust in the tourney. It was with a mocking smile that he offered the crown of red and white roses to her on the end of his lance, and she took it, seeming equally amused, both understanding the irony in more ways than one. Lyanna Stark placed the crown on her head this time, almost daring anyone to say a single word as she beckoned her husband closer and pulled him in for a fierce, borderline indecent in public kiss. People muttered, people disapproved, as they always did and always would. Jaime couldn't bring himself to care. There was a certain beauty in the Kingslayer and the Dragon's Whore rubbing it in everyone's faces. Jaime certainly wasn't protesting, even if the looks Cersei gave them both were positively poisonous.

Lord Tywin wanted them to remain in King's Landing until the baby was born - even at this early stage he did not want to even slightly endanger the future heir of Casterly Rock - but neither Jaime and Lyanna had any desire to stay in the city a second longer than necessary. They left the day after the tourney, at dawn before most had even woken yet, and were back at the Rock within two weeks. This time as they saw the great castle rising up from the horizon, he looked over and saw a faint smile on Lyanna's face.

 

*

 

Those months of pregnancy seemed to be the longest in Jaime's life. Lyanna was a nightmare. As the child grew and grew until it seemed like she would burst, she was unable to do anything she liked - namely fighting, riding or running - so was in a permanent sulk, moody and snappish, liable to bite anyone's head off. Aunt Dorna got it into her head that she was scared about the birthing, and spent a painful few weeks trying to 'put her mind at ease' whilst Lyanna glowered at the seemingly oblivious woman. Jaime was one of the few that seemed to appreciate that she was irritable because of the memories being in this condition must drag up. His wife had never spoken of her time as Rhaegar's prisoner beside a few bitter comments every now and again, but Jaime knew all too well the lasting effects of remembering things you'd much rather forget. He himself still couldn't look at a fire without smelling the charred remains of Rickard Stark, hearing the creaking of his blackened armour, and the echoes of his screams. He didn't tell Lyanna that though. He didn't think it would help much.

He and his wife were getting on perfectly with the careful avoidance of asking too much. One day, however, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked her if she was scared, or even nervous at the thought of birthing a child. Women die in childbirth, after all. Both their mothers had. He regretted pointing that out. In hindsight, that probably wouldn't help much either.

"I did this before," She had just shrugged in response, seeming genuinely unbothered at the idea of pushing out a whole person. "All on my own. I can do it again surrounded by the best midwives and Maesters Lannister gold can buy,”

"He left you on your own?" He had frowned at that. "Wasn't that...?" He trailed off, glancing at her.

"The most terrifying experience of my life," He didn't expect her to reply at all, let alone with such blunt honesty. "I thought I was going to die. But I didn't," She paused. "Nothing can compare to that," That was the end of that conversation.

Jaime was surprised at how calm he himself was about the whole thing. He never expected to be anyone's husband, and especially never anyone's father, and he suspected that the idea hadn't fully sunk in yet. It was only when he came across his wife, moodily stabbing a needle through some white cloth whilst sat with his aunts, that the reality hit him.

"There's a sight I never thought I'd see," He smirked as she glared up at him, clearly very displeased by her current situation. "Lady Stark doing her needlework like a good little wife," People had told him that she was technically a Lannister, but it seemed wrong to refer to her that way, even in his head. She looked thoroughly miserable with her hugely swollen stomach, slouching in the chair, and glared up at him resentfully.

"I'm so fat I can't do anything but sit here," She said. "Even this is better than nothing," She looked distastefully at the mess of fabric.

"What is it?" He couldn't work it out. She shrugged.

"Gods only know," She said. "Some sort of frock, I think. Darlessa cut it out for me, I'm just sewing it together," He peered doubtfully at the tangled web of thread.

"Are you?" She didn't slap his arm, which surprised him. Instead she stabbed him with the needle. “Ow!"

"Now you know how I feel, I've done that the times in the last hour," She sulked, but smirked at him as he rubbed his arm. "Come on Lannister, you've had worse wounds than that,”

"You really are a vicious bitch sometimes,”

"Jaime!" Aunt Dorna exclaimed reproachfully, like he was ten years old and in trouble again, not a man of nineteen. "That's no way to talk to any lady, let alone your wife. You should apologise," Lyanna grinned, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"My humblest and most sincere apologies, sweet and gentle lady," Jaime said sardonically, then grinned. "I should never have distracted you from your favourite pastime,”

"Fuck off," Lyanna glared. Aunt Dorna sighed despairingly.

"How many times have I told you Lyanna?" She scolded. "I don't know what they teach you in the North but a Lady of House Lannister does _not_ swear like a common fishwife," Lyanna just laughed.

"I've almost tempted you to it a few times, though, you can't deny it," Aunt Dorna's lips twitched, and Darlessa openly chuckled.

"Oh get on with your sewing," Dorna said, trying not to look amused or fond, and Lyanna gave a dramatic sigh.

"The little monster better be grateful,”

"It's for the baby?" Jaime was surprised, for some reason. She looked at him flatly.

"No, it's for you," She held up the minuscule garment, which was shorter than his forearm. "Of course it's for the baby. I've half a mind to ask the maids if they kept any of Tyrion's baby clothes, or even yours or Cersei's, so I don't have to make any more frilly little things like this," She paused. "No, not Cersei's, I'm not that desperate. It might be contagious," Aunt Dorna gave a very unladylike snort. Aunt Darlessa was too kind, and bit her lip instead.

"You wouldn't be able to tell mine and Cersei's clothes apart until we were four," Jaime said without thinking. Lyanna's eyes lit up.

"Speaking of which," She said, her wolffish grin making an appearance, canine teeth sharp and visible. "I heard, from one of the maids, the old one, that you and Cersei looked so alike when you were children that you used to swap clothes and pretend to be each other for the day. She'd dress in your tunic and breeches and take your sword training, and you - “

"Would sit in her Septa's lessons," He finished for her and she raised an eyebrow.

“Wearing?"

"Her dresses," She roared with laughter as did his aunts. "It was her idea, not mine. Safe to say it stopped after I had to sit through a talk about what to expect from your first flowering,”

"I never had that," Lyanna mused after she'd stopped laughing a while after. "We didn't have a Septa, and Mother died before I was old enough to be told. I'm not sure what Father thought she'd managed to teach me by the time I was six, but I no one ever explained it to me. I was in such a panic the first time I woke up, I thought I was dying and ran to Ned's room, he was on a visit home. He didn't know what to do with me, poor boy, he was fifteen and I was eleven," She grinned. "He explained it, though. Not very well, I went to a maid later, but good on him. Brandon would've laughed in my face, and told me it was a fatal condition," It was Jaime's turn to laugh at the thought of Ned Stark having that conversation.

"They talk of great lords," Darlessa said, giggling. "But no one ever knows that about the Lord of Winterfell,”

"And no one knows that the future Lord of Casterly Rock used to wear his sister's dresses," Dorna smirked, and the three women burst out laughing again, like a group of cackling witches.

 

*

 

Jaime would admit to himself that he was more worried than he had expected to be. Ten times more worried. Lyanna's labour pains had started that morning, and come nightfall she was screaming. He had gone with her to the birthing chambers, her leaning on his arm as she insisted on not being carried (her exact words had been 'I'm so fat I'll break your skinny arms'). He had gone in with her too. When the head midwife - a tall, thin but formidable woman with a hawklike face - had given him a stern look and informed him that the birthing chambers were no place for a man, he had smiled grimly and asked which one of them proposed to keep him out. Lyanna had let out a breathy laugh at that even as she winced, screwing up her face in what must be considerable pain. The screaming had started shortly after. She cursed and swore like a sellsword, using every foul word under the sun, her imagination and knowledge impressive. Especially when cursing Jaime, which she did a lot, colourfully, and in graphic, violent detail. He didn't begrudge her any of it, and it even made the younger midwives giggle.

The worst of it was seeing her in such agony. He had seen her sad, he had seen her angry, but he had never seen her like this before, so vulnerable and pained. And he could do nothing about it. Jaime knew that birthing was a long and bloody business at the best of times, but even so, unbidden thoughts of the screams of his mother as she lay dying after Tyrion's birth came to mind. He forced those thoughts away. Lyanna was fine. She was too bloody stubborn to be killed by a baby, of all things. And the women weren't acting like anything was out of the ordinary.

It was when Lyanna's eyes blearily closed and she started muttering about dying that Jaime's blood ran cold. He looked sharply at the head midwife - who was very efficient and know what she was doing if nothing else - and the woman shook her head.

"Everything is fine, milord," She said. "It's common for first time mothers to panic," But this wasn't her first time, and Lyanna wasn't one to panic, so what was going on? Then Lyanna started calling for 'Ser Oswald' and 'Ser Arthur' and Jaime realised what was happening. She'd gone back. To the last time she gave birth, delivered a child alone in a tower in a place a thousand leagues from home, whilst her three guards fought her brother and his men outside.

"You're not there," He lowered his voice and spoke into her ear, so no one could hear but her. "Remember. It's over. Lyanna. _Lya_ ," He'd heard her brother call her that once, and hoped it would calm her. Her eyes flickered open then, and she seemed to come to her senses, seeing him again. Though he'd been sat beside her on a chair the whole time, when he reached out and took her hand then, that was the first time he had touched her. He squeezed it lightly, and she let out a slightly disbelieving laugh at his uncharacteristic niceness, only to almost break every bone his hand as her face contorted in pain again and she squeezed like a vice. Jaime regretted offering the hand; at least it was his left one.

Then came the cry. Lyanna stopped screaming, her breaths coming in great gasps as the midwives hurried to wrap the red little bundle in cloths. Jaime stared at it, unsure of how to feel as the head midwife turned to him.

"You have a son, milord," She said. "A strong and healthy boy," But the birthing wasn't over yet. "Another one? Here we go," The midwife didn't even seem surprised as Lyanna let out one last agonising scream - Jaime would be lucky to regain use of that hand again, why hadn't he snatched it away when he had the chance? - and another ugly, red, wrinkled little bundle was carried away.

"Twins," A younger midwife smiled broadly, a slight gap between her front teeth. "A handsome boy and a beautiful girl. Just like you and your sister, milord," Jaime stared at her dumbly, speaking without thinking.

"God I hope not,”

 

*

 

Lyanna was fine. Asleep, just resting. She'd been exhausted after the birth, but stayed stubbornly awake long enough to see her children. Jaime was now stood in the nursery, where his son and daughter lay in the crib that had once been his and Cersei's, then Tyrion's. So small, so young, so new, yet Jaime and his sister had once been like that and look what had happened. Jaime knew that what he and Cersei had was not the norm between twins - far from it - but it just seemed too much of a coincidence…

Never mind. It was too early to tell. And his children were not completely identical. Their hair was the same, both had a dark brown tuft, the same colour their mother's. And they did both take after the Lannisters in other looks. However his son's eyes were Jaime's own green, whilst his daughter's were stormy grey like Lyanna's. With their eyes shut, they were impossible to tell apart, but Jaime hoped beyond hope that his children did not end up like him and Cersei.

It was odd, because he had never once regretted his own relationship with his sister. He didn't find it wrong, or disgusting, and couldn't care less about the Faith's teachings of sin. It had just always been Jaime and Cersei. Cersei and Jaime. They loved each other, and what was wrong or disgusting about that? Yet now he found that he never wanted that for his own children. He wouldn't be able to put it into words why, and had no desire to try, but he just didn’t.

 

*

 

When the raven came announcing the birth of Cersei and Robert's second child, another boy, named Joffrey, Jaime wished his sister happiness. Truly wished it. There was no residual anger or frustration or feelings of injustice anymore. He simply hoped that his sister was happy with her husband and children. That was all. She was queen now, with a strong and handsome king, that's what she always wanted. Jaime had never wanted his own wife unless it was Cersei. He hadn't wanted Casterly Rock. Hadn't wanted children. Yet now he had all three, and strangely enough he found that he didn't mind it.

He came to that realisation as he sat on the rug in front of the fire in the library, on the rug, with Lyanna and Tyrion like they had all those months ago. They were all a year older, and now there were two six month old babies with them. Lorcan, the eldest by two minutes, was sat up on his own next to Lyanna, concentrating hard as he built a tower from the dozen or so small books that Tyrion had got for him; he had plenty of proper toys in the nursery, but no one could be bothered to get them, or even have a servant bring them, and the baby didn't seem to mind. His sister, Tya, was happily the centre of attention, crawling - she'd just learnt how - in the centre of their little circle, and giggling as she rolled onto her back, making Lyanna and Tyrion laugh. She happily righted herself, only for Jaime - who was lying stretched out on his side - to prod her lightly with his toe and make her fall over again. Tyrion laughed as Lyanna smacked his foot away.

"Stop bullying the baby," She scolded.

"She likes it," He protested, and sure enough his daughter was giggling again. Lyanna couldn't help but smile.

"Strange child," She shook her head. Tya was crawling over to Lorcan, a big grin on her chubby baby face as she happily trampled her brother's tower, knocking it over. Lorcan definitely glared at her then, as much as a baby can, and he looked so like Lord Tywin in that moment that Jaime burst out laughing. Tyrion obviously saw it too, as he joined in. "What?" Lyanna asked curiously, as Lorcan leaned to push his sister over himself, making her cry out in anger, and they only laughed harder.

 

*

 

She'd been wanting to go back for years, Jaime knew. The twins would stay behind, one year old was far too young to be travelling such a distance, especially in autumn. Jaime tried to point out that travelling for anyone in the North in any time but summer was a mistake, but he didn't try too hard to convince her. Lyanna hadn't been home for almost four years, since she set off to Riverrun for her brother's ill-fated wedding to Catelyn Tully.

It was with a small party of guards that Jaime and Lyanna left Casterly Rock, riding north at good pace through the Westerlands, into the Riverlands. The route they took meant it was necessary to use the crossing at the Twins, which Jaime regretted doing the moment they were summoned to an audience with Walder Frey, a truly repulsive old man with a wife sixty years younger than him yet who still looked Lyanna up and down when they entered.

"Ser Jaime Lannister and his wife, Lady Lyanna," The herald announced.

"You've grown up a bit," Frey wheezed, ignoring Jaime in favour of his wife. "Last time you passed through here you were a slip of a girl. Though that didn't stop the Dragon Prince from... heh," He wisely reconsidered saying it from the looks on both their faces, but his laugh was suggestive enough. For moment it seemed like Lyanna would draw her sword on him - she insisted on carrying one at her hip when they travelled, which Jaime thought was fair enough - and Jaime felt like doing the same, but she restrained herself and merely settled for a look of loathing.

"We want to cross your bridge," She said bluntly. "Let us through. We won't be staying the night,”

"And what will you give me for letting you use my bridge?" Frey asked. Jaime raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't dare have tried that if it was Lord Tywin asking. But then again, Lord Tywin never asked. He ordered. "You have a daughter, do you not? Surely to grow as fine as her mother, or even better, her aunt. Heh," Lyanna bristled. "Betroth her to one of my sons - I have many - and you can cross," Jaime didn't know what Frey thought he was doing. Tywin Lannister still deeply resented the fact his sister Genna had been married off to a Frey, a second son at that. Lord Walder was playing a dangerous game that he had no hope of winning. Jaime opened his mouth, but Lyanna beat him to it.

"You arrogant, decrepit, repulsive old _lecher_ ," Her eyes flashed dangerously, and she stepped closer, looking every bit the wild wolf of Winterfell. And all her claws were out. "The day I let my daughter marry one of your weasel-faced brood is the day the whole world burns in hell. How dare you stand before Houses Stark and Lannister and insult us by asking for my daughter in exchange for a bridge? I would never even let my daughter near this toxic, rats-warren pile of shit you call a castle, let alone let any of the filthy, scraping _cunts_ you call family lay a finger on her. Now, if you do not let us cross this minute I will ensure that the fury of the North unleashes hell upon you and your home, and that the Rains of fucking Castamere play over the smoking ruins,”

There was a long, heavy silence. Jaime struggled not to laugh.

"Let them cross," Walder Frey ground out, resentment and hatred clear in his voice. He could not do anything else, because Jaime had no doubt that Lyanna was making empty threats. His father would be furious to hear of Frey's disrespect to the Lannisters and wouldn't hesitate before following up on it. And though he didn't believe Eddard Stark was a violent man - though given his reputation, Frey might - any attempt to keep his sister from going home would surely not be met well.

Jaime smirked as they crossed the bridge as perhaps the first people who didn't have to pay a toll.

"You're something else," He turned to her where she rode on her grey destrier. She grinned.

"I haven't told anyone off like that in years,”

“Enjoy it?”

“Gods, yes,”

 

*

 

Winterfell was a grey and grim castle, vast and sprawling and undoubtedly ancient. It stood in the wild and bleak moors and mountains of the North, the slightly foreboding Wolfswood on one side, yet the frozen land had a certain beauty to it, as did the castle. Strangely enough, the castle itself was not cold, and Lyanna eagerly explained about the hot springs under the castle that were pumped through the walls.

They had scarcely ridden through the gates before she had jumped off her horse and run into the arms of Ned Stark. Then she had thrown herself at a long faced, dark haired boy of perhaps thirteen - that must be her younger brother Benjen - for even longer; they hadn't seen each other since before the rebellion. She had greeted Lady Catelyn politely, seeming a little unnerved to see the beautiful woman standing beside her second brother big with child - it had been Brandon Stark the woman was meant to wed, not Eddard - but smiled warmly nonetheless and waved at the little boy stood beside her, who was introduced as Robb. The child grinned broadly at her, asking if she was Aunt Lyanna.

Jaime had hung back a little whilst she greeted her family, but Lyanna dragged him forward. The greeting between himself and Lord Stark was cold - the man disliked him for killing Aerys and Jaime disliked him in turn - but he made sure to smile charmingly at Lady Catelyn as Stark glowered beside her. The young Benjen clearly shared his brother's distaste for him, but little Robb eagerly asked him if he was a real knight. Jaime laughed and said he tried to be.

Then Lyanna saw the other little boy, hiding slightly behind Lord Stark's legs. Everyone quietened, even Robb. Catelyn was watching Lyanna with a sad smile, but Eddard and Benjen were watching Jaime even as Lord Stark nudged the boy forward.

"Here you go, Jon," He said encouragingly and surprisingly softly. "That's your mother, there. Go over and meet her," The boy stepped forward, and gods, there was no trace of Targaryen at all in him. He looked more Stark than Robb, and that had probably saved his life, for had he been silver haired and lilac eyed - had he looked like Rhaegar's son - Robert certainly would have been far less forgiving. His face was long and solemn even at two, his hair was the same colour as the twins' and fell to his shoulders, and his eyes were the same shade as Lyanna’s.

"Hello Jon," Lyanna smiled, her tone gentle as she knelt in the snow and held out her arms. There was a pause, but then the boy flung himself towards her, wrapping his little arms around her neck, and she took him in her own, hugging him tightly like she'd never let go. She tried to hide the tears streaming down her face, but Jaime saw them anyway, as she murmured into her son's ear.

They stayed in Winterfell for two months. Lyanna would've stayed longer if she hadn't been missing the twins. As it was, she spent as much time as possible with Jon before they had to go. Jaime laughed to see her with him and Robb in the yard, training with sticks they'd found in the Godswood (an unnerving place that set Jaime on edge, even though the Starks seemed perfectly at home there).

"You're teaching them wrong," He sauntered up to her, and she looked up, rolling her eyes.

"Here we go," She said to the children and Benjen, who was watching. "And what does the great Ser Jaime Lannister think the two year olds should be doing better?”

"Nothing," He said. "It's you. You're teaching them how I taught you, which is how to fight someone bigger than you. Because let's face it, anyone you'll ever have to fight will be," She made to hit him with her stick, but he caught it and pulled it out of her grasp. She stuck out her tongue as he grinned.

"You taught her to fight?" Benjen Stark asked, disbelieving.

" _Teaching_ ," Jaime said mildly; the younger Stark hadn't ever been openly rude towards him, but his dislike of Lannisters was evident. "It's a work in progress. She's not very good," Without warning, he made a slash at Lyanna with the makeshift sword, seeing that she'd picked up another stick, and grinning when she yelped in surprise but got the stick up in time to parry. He considered her for a moment, moving in a circle around her. "Though she is getting better," He lunged again, slashing once, twice, three times, and she blocked them all. Then she attacked him and the fight began in earnest. She was lasting longer against him now, she was far better than she had been a year ago, but it was always only a matter of time before he beat her. When he flicked the stick out of her hand, she did what she hadn't done in a while and leapt at him, using her whole bodyweight to try and force his sword arm down. They stood frozen for a moment - his arm wasn't moving and she wasn't giving up - and looked up at him and he looked down at her, him grinning challengingly and her wolfishly with gritted teeth. He let her try for a time then put her out of her misery and hooked his leg around hers, taking them out from under her but catching her just before she hit the floor. They remained like that for a moment, her glaring at him, him grinning unapologetically, before he let her go and she fell with a thump the remaining short distance to the ground. The sounds of children giggling made both of them remember that they weren't alone.

"Jaime!" She was on her feet in an instant, marching furiously over. He just laughed at her, catching both her wrists as she moved to hit him and pulling her close, kissing her quickly. Things like that, kissing her in public without caring who saw, he'd never had that before. They broke apart to see Benjen looking at them, so incredulous and disgusted that Jaime might as well have been kissing Cersei.

 

*

 

He had known his wife was physically pleasing since he saw her. Known that her face was fair enough, her body was quite curvaceous and, on occasion, thought she had nice eyes. In all honesty, he hadn't ever really thought about her looks. In the beginning, he wouldn't have paid any more or less attention to her if she'd been gorgeous or looked like a troll; she wasn't Cersei, and anything but Cersei was all irrelevant to him. Cersei was beauty itself, the Light of the West, as dazzling as the sun. Who could even begin to compare? Certainly not a dark haired Northern girl, cold and damaged. Of course, things had changed. Jaime had changed. Distance from his sister, a fresh perspective, had helped him see things clearer. He loved Cersei, he always had and probably always would. She was his sister. He would've loved her as more than a sister forever and more, if she'd let him. But she hadn't. And now he had Lyanna. When he and his wife had started to get close - actually acting like they were married, rather than tentative, if unlikely, friends - the attraction between them hadn't ever been about looks, more the fact that they were both just there and wanted someone to share a bed with. Then after that... he hadn't really thought about it. The point was, though he had noticed Lyanna was hardly unattractive, he had never paid much attention to her looks. He hadn't had to.

It was only now that he fully appreciated for the first time how truly beautiful she was.

It was a strange moment to realise it. Honestly, in that moment his thoughts should have been about anything but how lovely his wife looked. Anger, fear, panic. That would all come later. Right now, all he could do was stare.

He'd felt it in his gut that returning to King's Landing would not end well, even though they had no choice but to obey his father's request for a visit; Lord Tywin was, as predicted, Hand of the King by now, Jon Arryn having returned to the Vale with his wife. Lyanna been annoyed at having to leave Lorcan and Tya again, but the twins were too young to travel such a distance. And Robert had been bad enough last time, acting like a spoilt child who had his favourite toy taken from him and given second-rate replacement. This time, he seemed to have gotten over that anger and resentment, which both Jaime and Lyanna would've thought would be cause for celebration, but after a week or two in the Red Keep they were longing for its return. Robert was even more raucous and rowdy, getting drunk at every meal and groping at the serving wenches. It would've been bad enough, for king embarrassing himself and Cersei - and by extension the Lannisters - in public like that, if his drunkness hadn't also come with countless highly inappropriate comments made towards Lyanna, in front of large audiences. Jaime never imagined that he would feel protective over his wife - in the beginning he simply didn't care, and now he knew she could more than take care of herself - but the king's comments started making his blood boil simply because of the reaction they caused from Lyanna. He'd heard comments like that be directed at her before, made in jest by other men, and she always carelessly laughed them off, Jaime laughing with her, giving twice as good as she got. Robert, however, went further than that. It wasn't quite lighthearted enough to laugh off, and Lyanna merely smiled blandly whenever it happened, her eyes going blank, her mouth completely silent, her body completely still. It was like when they were first married; it didn't suit her. Not at all.

Then there was the feast, held a week before Jaime and Lyanna were meant to return to Casterly Rock, to celebrate the arrival of Lord Whatshisface from Who-Knows Where. Robert loved any excuse for a feast. The king had been particularly bad that night, kissing Lyanna's hand far too long to be decent and practically undressing her with his eyes all night, not even bothering to hide it. Therefore, Jaime did not protest when Lyanna muttered to him that she was going back to their chambers slightly earlier than normal. As she walked out the hall, Jaime realised with a jolt that all had gone unnaturally quiet from the middle of the table. Cersei was still sat there, looking as beautiful and sour as ever as she hissed some complaint to Father, but more importantly she was sat there alone. Robert, where was Robert?

It may have been an irrational conclusion to jump to, but Jaime immediately feared the worst. No way would the king leave a feast early. He got to his feet, ignoring the questions of those around him, and quickly left the hall, hand on his sword hilt. He wasn't exactly sure what he was thinking. Even Robert wouldn't be that stupid. He was a womaniser, yes, a drunk, yes, but a rapist? Jaime doubted it. And Lady Stark too, his best friend's sister, he wouldn't, he couldn't -

"Get your dirty hands off my tits and stay the _fuck_ away from me," Shit. No one cursed like his wife, he'd recognise that yelling anywhere. Jaime ran around the corner, to see the great hulking form of Robert Baratheon stood there as a small figure advanced on him, hand raised. He was just in time to see Lyanna slap the king fully round the face, the sound making Jaime want to wince from experience, but on this occasion he smirked. He should be feeling angry. His wife's hair was messed up, her dress was askew and she'd evidently just been backed into a wall against her will by a man three times her size. He should be afraid, that his wife technically attacked the king, for which the penalty was death. But in that moment, he couldn’t help but notice that she looked truly beautiful. Her hair was a wild mane around her long, pale face. Her eyes were alive with ice and fire, stormy grey and dangerous. She moved like a wolf advancing on its prey; a rather large prey for such a small wolf, admittedly, but that made the scene even better. "Get it in your _stupid, fat lump_ of a head," Lyanna was saying with vicious vindication. "I never wanted to marry you. The thought of your hands on me makes me sick," The king was actually backing away. The Demon of the Trident, backing away from an angry little woman of five foot four. "It you dare even think about laying a finger on me again, king or no king, I will take that finger, hack it off with a rusty spoon and shove it so far up your royal arse you won't ever shit the same again," Jaime couldn't help it. He snorted, loudly, catching both of their attention just as he burst out laughing. Robert glared, furious and red faced already, his presence only making it worse. Lyanna looked over, eyes flashing, breathing heavily.

"You're incredible," Jaime clapped his hands slowly at his wife, chortling with laughter. "Completely fucking mad, but incredible," Lyanna's furious expression faltered, and her lips twitched.

"You're a bit late," She said.

"Like you needed me," Jaime snorted, with a mocking glance at Robert. "I'm just glad I got to see the show,”

"Fuck off, Kingslayer," Robert grunted. It probably wasn't wise to piss off one of the deadliest warriors in the kingdoms, especially as that man had the power to behead him on a whim, but Jaime was beyond even that. The use of the name Kingslayer snapped something in him, and the grin abruptly fell from his face. Fuck it, _he_ was one of the deadliest warriors in the kingdom. And he hadn’t earned the name Kingslayer for nothing.

"I'm sure Ned Stark would _love_ to hear of the hospitality you treat his beloved sister with," He looked at the man, suddenly sharp and threatening. Robert riled at the threat, but Jaime didn't back down. "You know, Ned, your old friend, the man who fought a rebellion to save the same sister from the last cunt to rape her," Robert looked ready to hit him with the same force as his last blow on Rhaegar Targaryen, his worst and clearly still very much hated enemy who he very obviously loathed being compared to, but then Lyanna stepped forward and the king's face fell.

"Lyanna, I didn't mean - " He tried, but one look from her was all it took to stop him. It was pathetic really. The woman was looking for a fight, if it was Jaime she was arguing with they'd both be fighting on the floor by now.

" _He_ always said he didn't mean it," She gave him a look of purest disdain, and the king flinched like he'd been struck. "Like that made it any less of a living hell," She glanced at Jaime, then back to Robert. "We're leaving. Back to Casterly Rock, tomorrow. As early as possible. I can't stay here with you. Now, if you'll excuse me," She grinned wolfishly. "I'm going to fuck my husband. Goodnight, your Grace," She took Jaime's arm and lead him towards their rooms, not looking back once at the heartbroken, humiliated and furious face of Robert Baratheon stood alone in the hall.

Jaime did look back. Met the king's eyes, raised his eyebrow and smirked his most deliberately infuriating smirk, as the door closed behind them. There might be hell to pay in the morning, but, for now, that didn't matter. He turned, only for Lyanna to throw her arms around him and try to bury her face in his chest. His smirk fell and he held her, hand in his hair, the other round her waist. The encounter had upset her. Jaime had seen it, even if others wouldn't have. Upset at being reminded of the worst years of her life. Anger, at being treated like property, like anyone had the right to her. Embarrassed, for letting it happen again. She was wild, she was ferocious, she was strong, but she was also human.

"I did mean that," He murmured into her hair.

"What?" She looked up at him, grey eyes rather bright.

"You are incredible," She rolled her eyes and hit him lightly, but smiled nonetheless. He smiled too.

"Honestly. I know we don't do compliments, but this has to be an exception. What you said about his finger, I'll treasure the look on his face forever," She chuckled then, and he grinned. They just looked at each other for a moment, a long moment, then she buried her head in his chest again and he held her tight. "You're beautiful," He spoke into her hair again, so quiet even he could barely hear it. She heard it, and he felt her squeeze a little tighter in acknowledgement. There was a pause.

"You're not bad yourself," She murmured, and he laughed at the hint of mocking, feeling her smirking against his chest. It wasn't I love you - it might never be I love you - but it was enough for both of them. They'd gone from strangers to husband and wife, then husband and wife to friends, who then became lovers as well. Then after that, well. Neither of them quite knew what they were now. That was their relationship. Hard to explain. He hadn't told her about Cersei, or Aerys, and there was definitely something she wasn't telling him about Rhaegar Targaryen - what that might be, he had no idea, but there was something, of that he was sure. In all honesty, he didn't really want to know. And she certainly didn't want to know about him and Cersei. Jaime was happy like this. Happy to settle for friends.

At least it kept him on her good side. Wouldn't want to lose any fingers to a rusty spoon and his own arse, after all. He muttered that in her ear that night, as they fucked. Not the best timing, on purpose. She had been moaning underneath him, but in a second had dissolved into laughter, as he grinned despite the moment being broken. In this cruel, hard, generally shit world, at least they could laugh.

 

**END**

 

*~*~*~

 


	2. The Wolf Of Casterly Rock part II

"Why did you kill Aerys Targaryen?" Jaime raised his eyebrow at his wife, having been halfway through taking a long, needed swig of water after coming in from training all morning. He made a point of ignoring her, finishing his drink - for longer than necessary - before turning to face her. She stood with her arms folded, unimpressed at his pettiness. Like she wasn't just as bad. She was a mother of three, soon to be four, and yet the previous day she had thrown her sewing at him in a fit of petulant rage; he'd pointed out that she would scold Tya for acting like that, and laughed when she scowled, so he wasn't much better. Needless to say, Lyanna hated being pregnant, and acted like it was all Jaime's fault. _It takes two, little wife, it takes two. And I didn't hear you complaining at the time_.

"Ask your brother," He didn't want to explain himself, not now and not to her. They'd been married three years without this matter being discussed, and Jaime intended for it to stay that way.

"I don't need Ned to tell me you're a glory-seeking, arrogant arse," Lyanna said, in typical delicate fashion. "Again," Jaime smirked.

"You forgot oathbreaking, traitorous cunt who deserves to rot at the Wall," Lyanna snorted.

"Don't be stupid," She said. "Ned has never called you a cunt," Despite himself, he laughed, heading back inside. Of course she went with him.

"Why are you here, anyway?" He asked, nodding to the servants who muttered 'milord' as they passed. "I know you're not welcome back in the sewing session after your tantrum yesterday, congratulations on that,"

"It was a mutual agreement," Lyanna shrugged. "Dorna thought it best for everyone. Apparently I scared that visiting Marbrand girl, Darlessa's niece. I'm glad, I despise sewing,"

"Only now you've realised there's nothing else to do, hence why you're trailing after me like a lost pup," She glared at him, a look which anyone else would've stepped back from. He just grinned. 

"You still didn't answer my question," He stopped in the empty corridor and turned to face her, making sure to use his own height and her lack of it to his full advantage and look down at her.

"I'll answer that question when you tell me what you've been hiding about Rhaegar Targaryen," Because she was hiding something, he knew that much. Things weren't quite right about the story she offered. Jaime didn't even particularly want to know, but it served its purpose. Lyanna seemed taken aback by his rather sly move.

"Fuck you," She soon recovered. He smiled grimly as they began to walk again. "I'd have expected that from Cersei, or even Tyrion. Not you,"

"I'm not as lackwitted as my sweet sister likes to think,"

"No," Lyanna frowned slightly, even though he meant it in jest. "I don't think you are," At her rather odd comment - which noticeably lacked any of her usual bite - he took the chance whilst she was distracted to change the subject.

"Where are the twins?"

"Lorcan's with your brother," She said. "Tyrion seems to think he's teaching him to read already. The child's only two, I told him it was impossible,"

"Tyrion learnt at three," Jaime shrugged.

"What about you?" She grinned. She knew that he didn't enjoy reading, and liked to point out that his handwriting and understanding of grammar was scarcely better than a child's.

"Ten, maybe eleven," He said with a grin, and she laughed loudly. "I think it's safe to say I spent more time in the practice yard than with the Maester. Father made me learn in the end, taught me himself. Which was... pleasant," He pulled a face. Lyanna was silent for a moment.

"I used to be afraid of horses," She said, and he looked at her with disbelief. "I know. I was very small, only five, but I'd seen a stable boy get kicked in the face, and when Brandon found out I was scared he traumatised me even more by picking me up from horseback and galloping off, with me kicking and screaming. He found it hilarious, and I suppose it must've been, but I was furious at the time. Ned actually taught me first. He made me sit in front of him on his horse, and we just walked through the Wolfswood. Then he gave me the reins and let me steer. Soon I was outriding them all," Jaime smiled wryly.

" _My_ father sat me down in front of his desk and made me read his letters," He said. "Three hours a day, pointing out exactly what I was doing wrong. The letters never stayed still on the page, I could never make sense of them, and the Maester said he couldn't change it. But he made me learn anyway,"

"Lovely man, your father," Jaime hummed in agreement and they fell into silence.

"What about Tya?" He asked. Lyanna grinned.

"She pushed Lancel over, so Dorna sent her to her room without lunch," Jaime snorted.

"The little shit probably deserved it," His cousin Lancel was a whingy, rather spoilt child. He didn't know how the strict Aunt Dorna could tolerate it. She certainly hadn't put up with any nonsense from him or Cersei when they were younger, despite only being ten or so years older than them.

"He took her sword," Uncle Gerion had given Tya her most treasured possession for her second birthday a few months ago, a little wooden sword. It had been intended as a joke, and would probably have ended up going to Lorcan when Tya lost interest, but the little girl never did, and rarely let it out of her sight. Let alone let her cousin steal it.

"She really is your daughter," Jaime grinned at her. "Pushing around boys twice her size,"

"Let's hope she's more yours," She laughed, and he grimaced.

"I'm not so sure," He muttered. Lorcan and Tya were opposites in personality - his son was fairly quiet, careful and calm, though rather demanding, whereas his daughter was brash, dauntless and full of energy - but they were already rather too attached to each other. One of the few times Lorcan had gotten into trouble was hitting and kicking the young son of a visiting bannerman after the child had pushed Tya over. And Tya was always delighted to be with her brother, hugging him and climbing all over him; Lorcan wasn't likely to tolerate that from anyone else, but did with his twin. Jaime had made sure his children had separate rooms since they were old enough to walk. 

"What was that?" Lyanna asked. He shook his head, telling her not to worry.

*

Jaime had never been a religious man, but he was prepared to get down on his knees and offer eternal gratitude to the Seven, the Old Gods and whatever deity existed that his father was on the other side of Westeros when he found Tyrion three weeks after he'd gone missing. He couldn't believe his little brother had been quite so stupid as to marry the crofter's girl they saved on the road, yet couldn't say a word about it because he himself knew plenty about loving the wrong person. He also couldn't believe that it had come to this, sneaking through his own castle in the dead of night like a criminal, smuggling the girl in without being seen by anyone who would report to father. The three of them were soaked after riding since evening in the pouring rain, and left a trail of drips of water onto the floor. Both the children - for children was what they were, no matter how much older Tyrion pretended to be - were shivering. 

"Finally," He muttered as they emerged from the secret passage - one of many that littered the Rock, he and Cersei had spent their childhood exploring them - and into his chambers. His and Lyanna's chambers, rather, for she rarely slept in her own room even if it was the next one along, with an adjoining door. The girl, Tysha, let out a small squeak as the pale figure in the bed sat bolt upright at the sound of intruders, vigilant as ever. Before his wife could reach the dagger tucked under the mattress, Jaime had grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth to stop her calling the guards. She struggled furiously, and he quickly hissed into her ear. "It's me, you idiot, be quiet," She stopped, and he hesitantly let her go. She glared at him, rubbing her heavily pregnant belly irritably as he lit the candles.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" She then noticed Tyrion stood there. "Tyrion!" She exclaimed in surprise, having been worried for the boy these past weeks. "He found you, thank the Gods," Her eyes moved onto Tysha and narrowed. "Who's that?" Jaime smiled humourlessly. 

"Tyrion?" He turned to his thirteen year old brother with a mocking tone. 

"She's my wife," The boy at least had the grace to look a little abashed under Lyanna's stare. When Jaime had found them in that little cottage and told him he had to return to the Rock, he had been nothing but defiant and decidedly sulky. As Jaime had gone alone, not wanting to take any risk of this getting found out, he had had to talk Tyrion into coming with him, which had taken far too long for him to be in any sort of good mood now.

"Your _wife_?" Lyanna's eyes widened, and she turn to Jaime. "The girl on the road?" He nodded, and she looked at Tyrion and the girl, getting out of bed, not caring she wore nothing but a nightgown. She approached Tysha, who had been looking at the floor ever since they arrived, and surveyed the girl, who was dark haired, slender and fairly pretty, though would never be a great beauty. "You're a pair of morons," Lyanna turned to Jaime, then to Tyrion. "Smuggling her here in the middle of the night. She must be terrified. What's your name, Miss?" She addressed the girl. 

"Tysha, milady Lannister," Tysha mumbled, shifting uncomfortably and not raising her eyes. Jaime wasn't sure why she was so afraid; yes, the girl was only thirteen whilst Lyanna was nineteen, but they were both about the same height. Perhaps it was _him_ making her anxious, as she was obviously comfortable with Tyrion. Jaime hadn't exactly gone out of his way to be friendly - he'd been a sarcastic bastard, actually - and the last time they met he had been standing over four dead bodies with a bloody sword and an exhilarated grin. Of course, what she overheard of the brother's argument probably didn't help. In trying to convince Tyrion to come back with him in secret, Jaime had spoken of what Lord Tywin had done to his own father's mistress, after Lord Tytos' death. Paraded the woman naked through the streets of Lannisport, forced her to confess to everyone she met that she was a whore and a thief, then exiled her for the foreseeable future. Tyrion had gone white as a sheet at that, and Tysha had looked ready to pass out. It had worked, though.

"Just Lyanna," Lyanna pulled a face. "I'm still not used to being Lady Lannister, even after nearly three years," She grinned. "I suppose that's you now, too, if you married the little brother. Tysha Lannister," The girl let out a strangled sort of giggle, half incredulous, half absolutely terrified. Tyrion smiled - a kinder, less cynical smile than Jaime had seen on his brother in a long time - and rubbed supposedly comforting circles into her hand. 

"See," He said. "I told you Lyanna was nice,"

"Nice?" Jaime snorted, moving to stand beside his wife. He couldn't help but notice that Tysha shrank back from him slightly. "Hardly. She doesn't hit _you_ ,"

"Bugger off," Lyanna snapped at him idly, without any real bite. Tysha's eyes widened at her language, and the faintest ghost of an uncertain smile crossed her face for a split second. "Both of you, you're not helping," She looked at Tyrion, who opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again under her glare. Lyanna was the only person Jaime knew, save perhaps Father, who could get his brother to shut up. 

"I think you're forgetting whose room this is," Jaime smirked, knowing exactly how to annoy her. 

"No, I'm just throwing you out of it," She said flatly. "If you want to feel useful," She looked pointedly at Tyrion. "Go to my rooms and get a dress that would fit your wife, we're about the same height. Her clothes are dripping," The same height they may be, but Tysha was as thin as a stick, whereas Lyanna had the curves of a woman and was lean with muscle from training. Jaime wasn't sure she possessed any clothes that would fit her.

"Milady, I couldn't," Tysha mumbled, mortified even as she shivered with cold. "I'm but a crofter's daughter, I can't wear a noble lady's dress,"

"Most of them are quite plain," Lyanna looked a little uneasy for the first time. Jaime knew she didn't like to think of herself as a lady, especially when faced with the smallfolk. "None of them fit me now, anyway, I'm too huge. The green and white wool one, Tyrion, with black stockings. Jaime'll know which it is. Get a shift too, she must be soaked through,"

"Come on," Jaime grabbed his little brother's arm before he could protest anymore, pulling him through the door leading to Lyanna's chambers. He wasn't especially tactful as a rule, but knew that Lyanna wanted to talk alone with the girl and knew better than to go against that. He told Tyrion so, and after they found and delivered the requested dress they both sat against the door, waiting to be allowed back in. 

"I love her, Jaime," Tyrion said miserably. "And more importantly, she loves me. She doesn't mind that I'm a dwarf. She doesn't want Lannister gold. She doesn't care that I'm ugly. What other woman alive could there be like that?" Jaime sighed. 

"Father can't ever know," He said. "You know what he'd do to her,"

"He doesn't care what I do," Tyrion said angrily. "He'd celebrate if I ran away and was never even again. We could've stayed in that cottage, Jaime, we could've been happy,"

"If you think Father would let that happen as long as there was breath in his body," Jaime said. "You're not half as smart as I thought you were," As much as it saddened him to disillusion his brother, he was glad that Tyrion seemed to acknowledge that that was true. He knew it all along, Jaime suspected, he was too smart not to. But love made him blind and foolish, as blind and foolish as it had once made Jaime when he made a promise to his beautiful sister, as they lay together in an inn in King's Landing, her borrowed roughspun dress crumpled on the floor. He had thrown away his life to join the Kingsguard, all for her, because she was his life. That had been six years ago. _Six years_. He'd seen Cersei barely half a dozen times since. He thought of Lorcan, with his small smiles and quiet nature. He thought of Tya, making him lift her up and swing her round by the arms. He thought of Lyanna in the next room, talking to a girl Cersei wouldn't have given the time of day to, as their third child grew in her belly. His sister had been his life once, he decided, but she wasn't anymore. The thought was strangely liberating. 

When they returned, Tysha looked a little happier. She was even smiling, albeit still quite uncertainly, as she and Lyanna sat on the end of the bed; the younger girl sat gingerly, hardly daring to touch the fine material of the blankets, even as Lyanna lounged carelessly, one leg folded under her. Tysha wore Lyanna's green and white dress, which was indeed rather plain and simple - his wife favoured her clothes that way - but was of higher quality than anything the commoner girl would have ever worn before. She didn't fill it quite like Lyanna did, but it did seem to suit her, better than her own roughspun, slightly-too-short one had. Jaime saw Tyrion thought so too.

"Tyrion," Lyanna addressed the boy. "You've got to listen to me on this. I've talked to Tysha, and we both agree that you cannot acknowledge her as your wife. No, let me finish," She cut off his hurt, angry retort. "Your father would do Gods knows what to her if he found out - thank you Jaime, for putting the fear of the Gods in her," She gave him a weary look, and he smirked. "You can't let that happen. That would be selfish," Tyrion looked mutinous. " _But_ ," Lyanna continued pointedly. "If we arranged to buy a small but comfortable house in Lannisport for her, _and_ you were subtle about your visits... if both of you kept your heads down and never let on that she was your wife to _anyone_ ," Tyrion looked up, not daring to believe what she was suggesting. "I'm sure you could still see her whenever you wanted," For a moment Tyrion stood there, mouth slightly open that anyone who wasn't Jaime would be so kind to him. Then he threw his arms around Lyanna, hugging her tightly. Jaime heard him muttering 'thank you' over and over again, apologising when he squeezed the bump too hard, and couldn't help but smile slightly. He caught sight of Lyanna and Tysha sharing a glance. There was more than gratitude that the younger girl was directing there. It could have been... understanding? Jaime didn't know. He wondered what had been said when the two women were alone. 

*

Damon Lannister was born two and a half years after the twins, and was far bigger at brith than his elder siblings - all three of them, according to Lyanna - making for a long and difficult labour. Jaime had stayed beside his wife the whole time, unconsciously offering his hand again, which she unconsciously took. Apparently he hadn't learned from last time; he didn't think his left hand would ever be quite the same again. Spiteful woman, no doubt feeling it necessary for him to experience pain like her own, even only some small measure of it.  

"He looks like you," Jaime said, eyeing the bundle his wife held in her arms as she sat up in bed, propped up by countless cushions. 

"Are we seeing the same child?" Lyanna said incredulously. "Come on, sit down here and look again," She shuffled up despite his half hearted protests that the Maester said for her not to move, and Jaime found himself sitting gingerly on the bed next to her as she handed over their son. He muttered an apology when he accidentally jarred her arm as he took the child. "I'm not made of glass," She said, and he rolled his eyes, nudging her so sharply with his elbow she almost fell off the other side. 

"That better?" He snickered as she glared, though she was biting back a smile. "He does look you," Jaime reiterated. Yes, the baby was blonde, but his eyes looked closer to grey than green, and his face was more Stark than Lannister.

"Hm," Lyanna tilted her head, peering at the baby over Jaime's arm. "I don't see it,"

*

His wife found out eventually. 

Jaime had hoped she never would. In the beginning it had been a matter of practicality - he would have to keep her quiet, somehow, or gods knows the consequences - but now it was different. In the beginning he wouldn't have cared about seeing the disgust and hatred in her eyes. Now, the idea hurt him more than he cared to admit. He realised, as she stood there, that for all their exchanged insults and jokes, he didn't actually want her to think badly of him. Especially as she was meant to be leaving on a visit to Winterfell in two days.

"Your sister," Lyanna had said flatly, having entered his rooms without knocking. Somehow her bluntness was worse than yelling. "The woman you love is Cersei. You fucked your twin sister,"

"Who told you that?" For the first time since he met her, he struggled to hold her stare, but did regardless and forced an expression of amused disbelief onto his face, acting unconcerned even as his stomach lurched. She looked on, unimpressed, seeming to see straight through him.

"Don't patronise me," She said, arms folded. "It wasn't a question. I already know,"

"You shouldn't listen to slander," He said carelessly. "You of all people should know that," He knew exactly how to make her angrier, for better or worse. She glared daggers at him, but unsettlingly did not rise to the bait.

"I spoke to one of your mother's old handmaids," She said. Jaime's blood ran cold but he kept his expression of mild disinterest. "She told me about when you were children. You couldn't keep away from each other,"

"We were close once, believe it or not," He said. "There weren't any other children our age then. Which, of course, means I wanted to sleep with her," The sarcasm came naturally. 

"She said she found you kissing when you were eight," She continued, ignoring him. "Properly, not just like children playing. Your mother moved you to your own room when she found out, but then she died. After that, the maid was the only one who knew, and she kept it quiet. Of course she did, your father would have her head if he heard her suggesting anything like that about his precious golden twins. But she knew all the same. She knew Cersei would sneak to your room at night. She noticed the hidden touches, the way you acted around each other. She heard you. She saw you. You had dozens of beautiful girls falling over themselves for you, but you never showed a single interest in any of them. And when you heard that Cersei was to go to King's Landing, it just so happens you got named to the Kingsguard," His smile had been slowly falling as she spoke.

"Gods, you actually believe it," He said, frowning now and feeling the lies spill from his lips with well-practiced ease. "This woman is surely just a disgruntled servant. Did she happen to have any proof?" Lyanna's smile was grim.

" _I_ got proof," She said, and he didn't doubt it. _Fuck_. "I went to the Maester. Cersei was consistently stealing moon tea from his stores since she was twelve. He didn't tell your father for similar reasons,"

"And you immediately came to the conclusion that Cersei was sleeping with me, her _twin_   _brother_?" He asked. "Not a guard? A handsome hedge knight? A lucky stable boy?"

"As if your sister would lower herself like that," Lyanna snorted derisively. "What better man for her than the one she saw when she looked in a mirror," She understood his sister well, Jaime thought bitterly. "That wasn't what convinced me from the moment I heard the words out of the maid's mouth, though," She smiled slightly sadly now. He raised an eyebrow and she continued. "Our wedding night. I promised not to call you his name, if you promised not to call me hers," His smile fell altogether. 

"Yes?" He practically hissed.

"It was only once," She said, and he was getting to his feet. "It was strange at the time, but I brushed it off, thought you must've said something else, because the alternative was so mad, so _wrong_ , that it wasn't even worth considering," She stood her ground as he stalked towards her. "But I heard right. You spoke her name," She was looking up at him now, head tilted back with how close he had got. There was a moment where they just stood staring at each other, watching, waiting. Then she pulled back her lips in an unpleasant smirk. " _Cersei_ ,"

In an instant he had her pinned against the wall, one hand roughly gripping her throat. He wasn't thinking, it was instinct, to protect the dirty little secret - _the dangerous secret_ \- that he had hidden his entire life. That had once _been_ his entire life. She struggled with his hands, eyes flashing dangerously, but he was bigger than her, stronger, and pushed her back again.

"That was before," He said lowly as she breathed heavily, eyes wild but stilling slightly. "Listen to me, or we're all as good as dead. _That - was - before_ ," She laughed, cold and slightly mad.

"Before what?" She taunted, looking undaunted up at him. "You _fucked_ your _sister_! Whether it was before anything that doesn't make it fucking _right_. Before what?" She repeated again, not taunting now, angry. "Before you swore your marriage vows? Before _she_ swore her marriage vows, to the _fucking king_?" He smiled humourlessly.

"I lay with my sister on the morning of her wedding," He said with vicious vindication. "I fucked the queen the morning after, when Robert had left to go hunting and she told me he called her Lyanna all night. I fucked Cersei Lannister the morning of _my_ wedding," He felt Lyanna stiffen under his grip, and he relished in his next words. "Then she threw me out. Told me I could either have her, or my new Stark whore, as good as spat in my face. I haven't touched her since, and now find I have no desire to. Now look at me - _look at me_ ," She would hate him for this, he was vaguely aware as he forced her chin up to face him and she braced against him, with good reason. "If anyone else discovers this, anyone at all, I am dead, she is dead, the Lannister family disgraced, and where do you think Robert will look for a new wife? Jon Arryn barely saved you the first time from a life of being a trophy queen in King's Landing, a life of that man violating you every night and parading his whores in front of you during the day,"

"You don't need to threaten me," She snarled, twisting her face out of his grasp. "I know what it means if I tell anyone. I am not a child, I am not a fool and I have never been anyone's _fucking_ trophy. If you let me speak, _husband_ , I was going to say I had no intention of breathing a word to anyone. That I would gain nothing from seeing your head on a spike. That I have no reason to want that to happen. That you are my husband - my friend - and I would _never_ betray a friend," 

Jaime stared blankly at her, his grip slowly loosening, before he released her altogether. Neither of them moved, standing there in a thick silence, both breathing heavily. 

"Why?" He asked after a moment. She raised an impatient eyebrow. "You've just discovered that I slept with my twin sister for most of my life. Why are you being so... rational?" 

"Rational?" She scoffed slightly. "That's me all over," He suddenly, absurdly, found himself forcing back a smile. _Hardly the time_.

"You're about as rational as I am," He said flatly. "And I just threw you against a wall. You can see my concern," Her lips twitched.

"It's not like you done that before," He bit his lip, but then she grinned. It was a small grin, but it was her own all the same. 

She jumped slightly when he suddenly reached towards her again - he ignored that for now, even as he felt a stab of something that might have been guilt - but relaxed slightly as he drew her close in a hug. He was grateful, more than grateful, and didn't have the words to show it. She was tense initially, but then he felt her arms snake around him as she returned the embrace, and was more grateful still. 

"Of all the embarrassing things I've found out about you since we married..." She murmured into his shoulder, trailing off. He raised an eyebrow.

"Embarrassing?" He said a little faintly, as they broke apart. "This is hardly wearing my sister's dress,"

"You want the truth?" She asked, sitting down on the bed. "It's not even that she's your sister that bothers me,"

"It isn't?" He asked disbelieving. 

"Well, yes, it is partly, but you can't blame me for that," She admitted wryly. "But what truly repulses me is the fact it's _her_. Imagining you, with that poisonous, cruel bitch of a woman... makes me feel sick,"

"I don't know what to say to that," 

"You're not meant to say anything," She said. "You're meant to shut your big mouth for once and listen. You owe me that, after I didn't scream down the whole castle about your little secret. I don't appreciate having Cersei Lannister's seconds," He couldn't help it, he snorted at that. She gave him a sharp look, which softened slightly. "Come here," She said a little heavily, and he sat beside her on his bed, a reasonable distance apart until she shuffled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her out of habit, and they sat there in a not entirely awkward silence for a minute or so.

"I suppose it's too much to ask if you'll stay here tonight," Of course he had to ruin it. She gave him a flat look.

"You lied to my face, slammed me against a wall, choked me, then told me you fucked your sister the morning of our wedding," She said. "You've got some nerve, Lannister. Better hope Ned never finds out. He'd declare war for less,"

"Fair enough," He winced; he couldn't begrudge her that. "For what it's worth... sorry. I - "

"Panicked?" She suggested, smirking slightly. "I don't think I've seen you panic before. Or heard you apologise, for that matter,"

"I've never done anything that needed it," He said. "To be clear, the sorry was for strangling you. I won't apologise for Cersei," She looked hard at him for a moment.

"Fair enough," She said after a while. He raised an eyebrow, and she grinned wolfishly. "I think I'd rather fuck Ned than Robert," Jaime let out a bark of surprised laughter as she stood to leave.

She left for Winterfell two days later.

*

Lyanna took the twins on her visit to her old home, deeming them old enough at three to travel that far and wanting to see her bastard son Jon again; the boy would be four now. Jaime hadn't planned to go with them before, and didn't go now. He had no desire to see any other Starks, and besides his wife felt guilt at leaving Damon behind. He had pointed out that they left the twins when they were that age, and she had said some nonsense about them having each other at least. Either way, he was staying at Casterly Rock whilst his wife travelled with an escort of Lannister guards to the North. He doubted that she'd have any trouble with the Lord of the Crossing this time.

He knew her visit to the North was not because of what she had discovered about him and Cersei - it had been planned long before that - but he suspected that she was at least partly glad to have some time away. She had acted mostly the same as normal towards him in the two days after the revelation, but he had caught her eyeing him when she thought he wasn't looking, and whenever Cersei's name was mentioned by anyone she tended to exhibit some form of reaction like looking up sharply, or glowering at nothing in particular. Though they had shared a bed, they hadn't _shared_ a bed, and he had even caught her with suspiciously red eyes after she left the Godswood the night before her departure, though he couldn't say if that was related or not. 

This was probably the longest time they'd been apart since they were married. Jaime had been away for a week or two at a time before - visiting bannermen, going after bandits, sorting out land disputes (he had to admit his reputation as the Kingslayer certainly helped with this aspect) etcetera - but Lyanna had always been back at the Rock, or within a day or two's ride if she was visiting one of her friends, various other women of the Westerlands. Now she was hundreds of leagues away. It wasn't that he was missing her. She drove him mad sometimes, and he knew he did the same to her. It was nice to have the whole bed to himself, without his fidgety wife wriggling and tossing and turning, constantly, all night, beside him. It was pleasant to be able to train with the men without getting heckles - often highly insulting and inappropriate - from his wife as she watched. He also enjoyed not being outdone by his wife when he rode a horse, and not always having the windows open letting in freezing air from outside.

But as the weeks without her dragged on, he did have to admit that he was bored. He did _not_ miss her, but he did find himself missing having to come up with creative insults and sarcasm to hit back at her with. And even though she wasn't the best swordsman, she _was_ fun to fight with, and he even had to acknowledge that he enjoyed teaching her. More than once, at a dull meeting with another dull lord, he found himself turning to his right mutter a sarcastic comment to a woman who wasn't there. He hadn't appreciated how boring everyone else was when she wasn't there with him.

He did miss the twins. He missed being amazed that Lorcan was beginning to understand letters, missed Tya's antics, missed finding more and more of himself and Lyanna in them every day. He missed his son's small smiles and his daughter's wide grins. He missed taking them riding, showing them the secrets of the Rock, laughing with Lyanna as they watched their children. 

Fuck it, he missed his wife.

It wasn't that he loved her. Not in a Florian and Jonquil kind of way. Not in a Jaime and Cersei way either. He was having to acknowledge that he cared for her, but in a way she acted more like a sister than Cersei ever did, with the benefit of not actually being a blood relative, which was no doubt a good thing. They antagonised each other, they amused each other, they fought, they laughed. And they loved their children.

He received a letter from Winterfell, six weeks after Lyanna had left. She hadn't written at all before then, but they were never in the habit of writing to each other, both of them not having the patience for it. Her letter now was short and simple. She was pregnant again. Despite himself, Jaime smiled at that. It also said she was travelling back to Casterly Rock now, before she got too fat to ride a horse, so not to reply as she wouldn't get it. He had to laugh at her wording. She finished by saying that the twins missed him.

He was there to meet her in the courtyard when the party arrived in the early evening. Though clearly weary from the long time on the road, her eyes were still bright and she dismounted without assistance, lifting down Lorcan who rode in front of her, whilst Tya rode with one of the guards, both too young to have their own horses. The twins were both tired too, but Tya ran up to embrace Jaime, with Lorcan following at a calmer pace. His daughter began talking eagerly about her cousins, her half brother Jon Snow, the Wolfswood, the crypts, the First Keep, the Broken Tower, as Lyanna approached after giving her horse to a stable hand. 

"Hello," She smiled at him, and he straightened up from the children, smiling back at her, both a little hesitant but not willing to admit it. She turned to the nursemaid, instructing the woman to make sure the twins had baths and got clean clothes before bed. The children went, though Tya protested at first. Then it was just the two of them. 

"How was Winterfell?" Jaime asked. 

"Good," She nodded. This was strange. Far too nice for either of them. They'd never bothered with niceties, not even when they were strangers. "How was... here?"

"Dull," He said bluntly. "Boring. Monotonous. Take your pick," She smirked slightly as they walked inside.

"Well if you insist on staying at home to take care of the baby..." He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. 

"I could say many things to that," He said. She laughed, grabbing onto his arm like she often did. His grin grew when she didn't let go. This was better. More natural, more like them.

"Why don't you?"

"This is the first time I've seen you since I learned you're pregnant with my child," He said. "I have to be at least polite, don't I?"

"Polite?" She pulled a face. "Now _that's_ boring. But you can't even claim to be polite, Jaime. Don't think I haven't noticed where we're going," Jaime took a split second to realise that they were walking to their chambers. 

"Would you believe me if I said that wasn't intentional?" He asked.

"If that was true," She was grinning her wolffish grin. "I'd be very disappointed,"

Needless to say they didn't waste any time getting to their chambers, nor once they were there. They'd barely kicked the door shut before her lips were on his. As to the rest, they didn't even make it to the bed. 

A while - a long while - later, they were both sat on the edge of the bed, her leaning her head against his shoulder, his arm around her.

"I forgave you, you know," She murmured. "I forgave you the day I heard it, even though there was nothing to forgive, not really. I mean, you never broke your vows to me. And even if you had, I could barely stand to look at you when we were first married so I doubt it truly mattered anyway," She broke off. "I forgive you," She repeated again, quieter, sounding a little... he didn't know. He just squeezed her waist, pulling her closer to him. There was a pause. "Especially after the welcome you just gave me," He looked at her, and she looked at him. Her lips twitched. And then she started to laugh, and her laugh was so contagious that Jaime couldn't help but join her. 

*

It was just over a year after the birth of Damon that they welcomed their fourth child, a daughter named Alarra, a Northern name for a Northern girl. Despite her green eyes, her dark hair and long face were entirely Stark, unlike Damon - who held a mix of Stark and Lannister features - and the twins - who were all Lannister apart from their dark hair and Tya's grey eyes. She cried the least of all their children, and Jaime was often unnerved to see the solemn look of Eddard Stark on the face of his infant daughter.

"Tya," Jaime smirked as his eldest daughter - now almost four years old - jumped out of her skin, whirling around to face him where he stood at the door to the nursery. She was stood on a haphazard pile of cushions, on her tiptoes peering into Alarra's crib, and as the pile wobbled at the sudden movement she leapt, catlike, to the floor ahead of it all falling down.

"I'm not doing anything troublesome," The little girl said immediately, getting to her feet. Jaime snorted at her echoing the words of her Aunt Dorna. "Letty said I could go," Jaime knew her nursemaid had not let her go, as the poor woman had come running to him terrified that she'd lost little lady Lannister.

"You're always up to something troublesome," He said, easily picking her up and resting her on his hip, moving closer to the crib so she could see Alarra properly. She grinned, reaching out to run a hand through her sister's blonde hair, already growing in thick tufts.

"She looks like Mother," She said. 

"She does," Jaime agreed.

"Who do I look like?" She tilted her head to one side, curious.

"Lorcan," Jaime couldn't help but grin at her glare. "But with longer hair,"

"I _know_ that," She said impatiently. "I meant you or Mother,"

"You look like me," He said. She pulled a face, and he laughed aloud. "What, that's not good enough for you?"

"If I look like you, that means I look like Queen Cersei," Tya pouted. "You're twins, and everyone says you look the same,"

"Why don't you want to look like Cersei?" Jaime asked - whatever else his sister was, it couldn't be denied she was one of the most beautiful women in Westeros - then paused. "Has your mother told you she's fat and ugly?" He wouldn't put it past her. Lyanna had had a strong dislike for his sister even before she found out their past.

"No, that's what Uncle Tyrion said," Tya said in perfect seriousness. "But I don't care about that. I like Uncle Tyrion, and he's ugly. But I know Mother doesn't like Cersei. What if she doesn't like me?"

"She won't not like you just because you look like my sister," Jaime said. "She likes me well enough, doesn't she?" _Enough to make you and your siblings, anyway_.

"Sometimes," Tya said doubtfully, and he laughed.

*

Jaime was sparring in the courtyard with Uncle Gerion - Damon eagerly watching them - when he heard the alarm bell sound from the tallest watchtower of the Rock. In answer to it, the bells of Lannisport began to dolefully toll in the distance, creating a dreadful, forbidding chorus. Immediately he scooped his young son up onto his hip and hastened to find out what had happened; he only remembered those bells tolling once in his life, and that was the day Joanna Lannister died. It needed no explanation, however, when he looked out towards the Sunset Sea and saw the countless longships with the black and gold kraken of House Greyjoy boldly emblazoned on the sails. The Iron Fleet, heading straight for Lannisport.

"Has Greyjoy got a death wish?" He asked in disbelief as he stared out to sea. It appeared the man did, for Lord Tywin had executed men for far less than a brazen attack on the largest city of the Westerlands, scarcely an hour's ride from Casterly Rock itself. But that did not solve their current problem. However much Greyjoy would regret this, that would not stop the raid from happening. It was a low move, attacking an unprepared city, out of nowhere. He knew there had been mutterings from the Iron Islands for a while, but even his father's spies and informants had not let on that anything of this magnitude was coming.

But there was no time to lose. He quickly began barking orders, uncles Kevan and Tygett appearing and doing much the same, trying to gather as much of the Lannister army together as possible in the unlikely hope they would make it to aid the Lannisport city watch in time. All at the same time as trying to get into armour. 

"Father," Jaime glanced down at the interruption as he felt a small hand hanging off his tunic. He saw Lorcan there, his face pale but set, rather grim for a four year old. One of the few times Jaime could see the Stark in him. "Mother's there,"

"What?" He stopped dead.

"She rode out this morning," The boy was trying to hide his worry. "To Lannisport," Jaime swore loudly. 

"Change of plan," He announced loudly, making sure Uncle Kevan heard him. "I'm leaving with as many mounted guards who can be ready in the next five minutes. Lady Stark is in Lannisport," His usually mild mannered uncle swore too, albeit under his breath. 

"Go," He said grimly. "Tygett, Gerion and myself will lead contingents of the main force. I'll make sure Tygett's leaves to back you up as soon as possible," Jaime didn't need telling twice. He ran to the stables, and mounted the first tacked horse he saw, along with the requested soldiers, who numbered about three dozen. Without waiting to see if the others were behind him, he dug his heels into the horse's side and galloped recklessly down the steep causeway that joined the Rock to the mainland. He had done this countless times before, knew every twist and turn, but never before with such urgency. It was made twice as risky by the frozen ground and patches of ice - it was still winter, even though it was nearing its end - but Jaime was lucky enough to have picked a surefooted horse that followed his commands at only a touch of his hands on the reins or his heels against its sides. 

They were halfway to Lannisport when the first screams reached their ears, and the first spirals of smoke could be seen from the docks. _The ships_. As damning as the inevitable destruction of the entire Lannister fleet would be, as unbelievably furious as his father would be, Jaime couldn't bring himself to care much at that moment. _For once, woman, just keep your head down and gods sake keep your mouth shut_. Lyanna didn't look like the Lady of the Casterly Rock, at least not when she rode out. She wore high quality but plain breeches, a simple cloak and tunic, and her hair would only be in a rough braid if it wasn't loose. The people loved her for it. If she was sensible, she wouldn't draw attention to herself. If she was smart, she would use her clothing to her advantage and pretend to be a commoner man, or even a fishwife. If she was afraid, she would hide, stay out of the way. But she was none of those things. She was reckless, daring and dauntless. Too much like him, he realised, knowing full well that he would die before he ran and hid whilst reavers raided the city. Cersei may look the same, but he and Lyanna shared the same instincts. 

The city was chaos when they arrived. People screaming and running, some trying to fight and getting cut down by merciless Ironborn. The city watch were doing their best - his father had always made sure they were highly trained and highly disciplined, and Jaime had been sure to do the same - but there were far too few of them, and they had been taken completely by surprise. The sea was a raging inferno, the Lannister ships all up in flames as the smaller, swifter Ironborn longships darted in between them. 

"Help them," He ordered the guards. "Two of you with me. Everyone else, drive the reavers back to the sea, kill any that don't run," The others hesitated to leave him. "Go," He yelled impatiently, already riding off. He ground his teeth in frustration as the hordes of terrified, fleeing people made navigating the streets incredibly slow. Not to mention that every reaver who saw him made a beeline straight for their group of three. Jaime cut through each and every one like they were butter. As concerned as he was for his wife, the song of the battlefield began to overtake his mind; the adrenaline, the rush of not knowing which second would be your last, the flash of his sword, the satisfaction of blood spurting from the wounds it made. The guard to his right had fought bravely but was dragged from his horse by three Ironborn. The one on his left was felled by an axe to the face. His blood spurted across Jaime's face, hot and wet; he realised then that in his haste he had not remembered to wear a helmet. Fuck. No wonder he was an obvious target, he thought not wearing the golden armour would be enough. What a fool he was, he thought, smiling grimly. _I'll just have to make sure no one gets close enough to land a blow_. He could do that. 

He didn't wait to see what had become of the guardsmen, continuing to push through the chaos on the horse, who he had increasing respect for as the beast did not falter at a thing. Then he saw her. Her back was against a wall as she and one of her guards fought off four reavers, and Jaime had never been more glad he taught her to use a sword. She had been learning almost five years - nearly as long as they'd been married - and though she had improved greatly from the terrible fighter she had been, she was only an average swordsman; she was very quick, with good reflexes, yet she was not very strong, especially compared to the brutes she fought now. She also had little more experience than a green boy, obviously never having fought any true battles before. Now, with her back against the wall, she could not move no matter how quick she might be. In a position like that, it was strength and experience that won. As one of the reavers smiled nastily, raising his sword for the killing blow - her guard had fallen seconds before - she practically snarled at him, though Jaime recognised the cornered wolf look in her eyes, wild and ferocious. In one last reckless push, she darted forward and slashed the face of the reaver that threatened her, a move she knew would leave her open and cause the others to kill her instantly in retribution, but Jaime well understood the idea of wanting to go down fighting. But then he was there, in one smooth swing of his sword opening the stomach of one Ironborn, who roared with pain and collapsed to the ground to bleed out, whilst his blade continued on to block the vicious swipe of another that surely would've split Lyanna in two. In less than a second, the man was dead, as was the last of Lyanna's attackers as she had taken advantage of the distraction and stabbed the man whilst his attention was elsewhere. 

Jaime quickly pulled his wife into a narrow alleyway, slightly away from the chaos in the streets, and quickly ran his eyes over her. Her face and clothes were bloodied and dirty, and she bore several fairly minor wounds, but otherwise she was unharmed, if shaken. Only then did he allow a grin to spread over his face, let the true rush of the battle take over. She grinned a little hesitantly back, though he knew it was sincere. 

"I never thought I'd be so glad to see your smug face," He laughed at her. 

"Your first real combat," He said. "How did you find it, Lady Stark?"

"It was going alright until those four came along," She said. "I took down three before them, probably only because they didn't expect me to know how to use the sword," She grinned. "Bet you loved playing the gallant knight rescuing the fair maiden,"

"I see no fair maiden," He grinned. "Only a wild wolf, wearing very tight breeches," She rolled her eyes, but grinned herself. 

"I enjoyed it," She said. "I understand what you meant about being in a battle. Even when I thought I was about to be cut in half by an axe-wielding madman, I have never felt more alive," He laughed aloud. 

"I told them I'd ride ahead to get you," He said. "But now I'm here, I fear I am needed to help defend the city. You won't be too upset if we stay a while longer, my lady?"

"Not one bit," Her eyes glinted.

They fought side by side, back to back, for who knows how long. Jaime's own fighting was hindered slightly, as as well as dealing with his own opponents he also had to watch out for the less experienced Lyanna, but it was worth it to see the life dancing in her eyes, behind the grim Stark look of determination on her face. Jaime's own sword was singing a merry tune as he cut through man after man; whilst a life of marriage and lordship was not the monotonous misery he had expected, there was nothing quite like a fight for your life. The closest he'd got since the Rebellion was the fights he had when they rode out to deal with bandits, which was hardly the same. More and more Lannister soldiers kept arriving, as his uncles gathered the army together, and the Ironborn were soon pushed back to their ships, any who remained lying dead in the streets. Most, however, escaped beyond the still burning ships that were all that remained of the proud Lannister fleet. Of course, the folly of forgetting his helmet paid its due before the day was out, as Jaime was sliced unexpectedly across the face by a quick reaver's blade. It stung like hell, and the dripping blood was a nuisance, but though it would surely scar it did not feel too deep. He could still see, smell and taste at any rate. 

By evening, the raid was over, all Ironborn either dead, captured or gone, but Jaime - whilst he had enjoyed himself - was under no impression that the Lannisters had won. The Ironborn raid had gone exactly as Balon Greyjoy had planned; their ships were destroyed, their supplies looted, many guards and townspeople dead, even more wounded and terrified. Jaime made sure to speak to the people of the city himself, Lyanna beside him, just as battered and bloody as he was. The reaction to the Lady of Casterly Rock fighting alongside her husband had shocked a great many people, but few had questioned it after losing at her wild appearance and the bloody blade in her hand. The few that objected soon regretted it after the less than delicate words they received. When Jaime finished his short speech, Lyanna stood and said a few words as well, and there was a ragged, if enthusiastic, cheer from the exhausted townsfolk as they walked away. They rode back to the Rock together, Lyanna sat in front of him.

She dismounted first, only to be accosted by a dark haired blur as Tya flung herself at her, not caring for the blood, sweat and dirt. Lorcan hovered uncertainly in the background - he wasn't as giving with his affection as his twin - but when Lyanna held out her arms for him he hugged her too. Little Damon toddled up, and Jaime lifted him onto his hip, as Tyrion followed behind him. 

"Glad you survived, brother," His brother said, grinning at Lyanna and the twins. Then his smile twisted wryly. "Now, who wants to tell father?" There was an unpleasant silence. 

Jaime stood in front of the mirror later that evening, fingers brushing at the wound the reaver had given him that day. Now it had been cleaned, it could clearly be seen as a livid red line, crookedly slicing from the bottom of his left cheek, across the bridge of his nose (where it was deepest), finishing just under his right eye. It certainly wasn't a grievous wound, but it would scar, and his face certainly would never be as pretty again. Cersei would've hated it, as it made him look less like her. He wasn't quite sure what he felt about it himself yet.

"You know," He turned around as Lyanna slipped into his chambers, moving towards him. "That makes you look a little bit less like a delicate Southron flower,"

"You like it," He accused, grinning.

"It's not bad," She shrugged, but her eyes betrayed her, flicking up to the wound. He laughed. Perhaps he could like the scar after all.

*

Lord Tywin's rage was something to behold. The Maester had sent a letter to King's Landing before Jaime had returned from Lannisport, warning him of the attack and that there may be heavy losses. Uncle Kevan followed up hours later with his own letter. They worryingly received no reply for days, until a rider reached them saying Lord Tywin was several days away from the Rock, with the King's army a week or so behind him and with promised help from Eddard Stark in the North. They had received reports of Ironborn raids against Seaguard, and a letter from Jason Mallister confirmed that it had been less successful than the one on Lannisport, mostly because it was not a complete surprise. Balon Greyjoy's eldest son Rodrik had been leading the attack, and had been slain by Lord Mallister's own hand. It turned out that Victarion Greyjoy had led the attack against the Westerlands, though it had been orchestrated by his brother Euron, a vicious cunt if ever there was one. 

Tywin Lannister had ridden through the gates and marched to the Lord's solar without a word to anyone. Jaime and his uncles, along with several high ranking officers in the Lannister army, stood in front of his desk in silence as he ordered Uncle Kevan to explain fully what had happened the day of the raid. A tense silence fell when he finished, as Lord Tywin glowered at the table, no one daring to interrupt. His father then abruptly slammed his hands on the desk, making several men jump, and raised his head to glower at each and every one of them, before outlining exactly how they would annihilate Balon Greyjoy and every single Iron Islander that lived. They were all dismissed after that. They all went.

Jaime was the first to leave, and to his horror, he opened the door to see Lorcan stood listening outside it. He tried to conceal the boy with his legs, but Lord Tywin had already seen him.

"Everyone out," His father said in a steely voice, then turned to Jaime. "Bring the boy in here," His heart sinking, Jaime nodded to Lorcan, who slowly stepped into the room as everyone else left. Uncle Gerion gave him a sympathetic look.

"He didn't mean anything by it, Father," Jaime said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "He's four years old,"

"I think he did," Lord Tywin looked down his nose at the little boy. "I also think he is old enough to speak up for himself," Lorcan looked up, meeting his grandfather's eyes. He had only met the man several times before, as Lord Tywin rarely left King's Landing more than once or twice a year, and even when he did visit had little time for infants; he had been satisfied with a glance over Lorcan, as the eldest son, proclaiming him healthy and barely looking at the others. "Well, boy?"

"I wanted to hear the plans," He said, a little quietly but clearly enough. 

"You did?" Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow. Jaime winced, knowing that look and that foreboding tone. "And why would a child of four feel that he is entitled to know what I plan to do with my army?" Lorcan paused, but Jaime didn't think it was a nervous pause - none of his child were ever nervous - more a thoughtful one. As thoughtful as a four year old can be. 

"It'll be my army one day," He said. "I wanted to hear how you did it," Jaime watched as his father considered his son, who to his credit didn't shift, fidget or look away, as Jaime knew he himself had often done when fixed with that look as a child. Then Lorcan opened his mouth again, to the surprise of both men. "I saw the fires," He said. "In Lannisport. I saw the ships burning and heard everyone screaming. I wanted the Ironmen to burn instead," As the silence stretched on, the boy became visibly uneasy for the first time, looking to Jaime for guidance as his grandfather didn't say a word.

"Very well," Lord Tywin spoke in his usual controlled tone, but Jaime could almost ( _almost_ ) hear a note of approval in his voice. "You may go," He spoke to Jaime as well as Lorcan, and Jaime led his son towards the door. Both of them were stopped however, by his father's voice once more. "Jaime, I never wish to hear of the Lady of Casterly Rock fighting alongside her husband again. Be sure to pass that message on to your wife," Jaime nodded once to acknowledge the warning. 

"Yes, my lord," Lord Tywin waved a careless hand. They both left. 

*

"It isn't fair," 

"A dutiful wife would mean that in the sense that she fears for her husband," Jaime smirked as she leaned against his shoulder where they sat together on the nursery floor, legs in front of them as they leant against the wall. Baby Alarra was in Lyanna's arms. Tya was laughing, nimbly dodging away from Damon and his toddler steps as the boy tried to run after his wooden knight she had stolen. Lorcan was shakily tracing the letters Tyrion had taught him with a quill and parchment, even as he peered at his twin with a small smile. None of them paid any attention to Jaime and Lyanna.

"Oh, you'll be fine," Lyanna said carelessly and he laughed. "I wouldn't waste my energy worrying, you've said enough times that you're the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Of course I didn't mean I was worried for you. It's not fair that you get to go and fight whilst I'm sat on my arse here doing nothing,"

"Arse," Damon suddenly said accusingly, glaring at his sister who cackled with laughter; she knew that word already. Jaime turned to Lyanna with a raised eyebrow, and she bit her lip. 

"And there's another new word he'll never forget," She couldn't help but grin with him. "It can't be said that our children don't get a rounded education,"

"Between you, me and Tyrion they'll all be swearing like sellswords by the time they're five," Jaime agreed. 

"The twins are nearly five," Lyanna said, a little disbelievingly.

"Surely not," Jaime joked. "They were screaming, wrinkled and ugly only last week," Lyanna hit his arm and he laughed, even as she smiled ruefully. 

"Don't listen to him," She said to Lorcan and Tya, both of whom had looked up together. "You weren't ever ugly," 

"I know," Tya said, and Jaime laughed. 

"Well said,"

"You'll miss their nameday," Lyanna realised.

"Not to worry," Jaime said, grinning at Tya. "I'll bring you back an Ironborn axe as a gift to make up for it,"

"Really?" His daughter said eagerly. Lyanna rolled her eyes but chuckled. 

"So long as you give Damon his knight back," Tya practically threw the toy at her brother, bounding over to sit on Jaime's lap. 

"There," She said. "Please, Father," It was Cersei's face but Lyanna's eyes that stared up at him. 

"Don't use it on Lancel," He said. She grinned in triumph, and Jaime looked to Lyanna, amused. "Are we bad parents?"

"They're happy," She shrugged. "What will you give Lorcan,"

"He can share my axe," Tya said. Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry for believing you're not very good at sharing," He nodded to Damon and his knight.

"I am too," She glared at him.

"She shares with _me_ ," Lorcan said. "Just not babies,"

"Lancel is older than you, and Tya doesn't share with him," Jaime's eldest son looked back at him with perfect seriousness. 

"Lancel is a bigger baby than Larra," The boy said, and Tya burst out into giggles.

*

Defeating the Greyjoy Rebellion was a bloody, ferocious if not entirely difficult affair. The Iron Fleet, led by Victarion Greyjoy, was smashed by the Redwyne fleet, ships from Oldtown and Stannis Baratheon - Aeron Greyjoy was captured off Fair Isle and sent as a prisoner to Casterly Rock - allowing the combined forces of Stark, Lannister and the Iron Throne to cross from the mainland to the Iron Islands. Barristan Selmy took Old Wyk, Stannis Baratheon took Great Wyk, whilst Jaime advanced with his father, the King and Eddard Stark on Pyke. Even Jaime was surprised by the scale of the destruction during the short siege on Pyke, as after Botley castle and the town was destroyed, Robert's forces assaulted the southern wall with siege engines, shattering the main watchtower and bringing parts of the surrounding wall down, killing Maron Greyjoy. The fighting was fierce but the Ironborn had no hope of victory, and soon Balon Greyjoy was dragged in chains to kneel before Baratheon and Stark.

When there was fighting, Jaime let himself go into the battle fever that made him feel so alive. He made it through, unharmed apart from the usual minor bruises and wounds; the worst he got was a small injury to his rib, a nasty mottled bruise but nothing too harmful. He was rather glad Lyanna was not there, as was Eddard Stark, whom he had told of the assault on Lannisport that Lyanna had been caught up in. Jaime was expecting the man's disapproval for not sending his sister away the moment he arrived, but to his surprise all he got was a grim smile, and Stark grudgingly thanking him for teaching her to fight. He seemed to understand as well as Jaime that the woman wouldn't have let herself be sent away. 

"What's that for?" Stark asked him, eyeing the reaver's sword he had fastened to his belt. To Jaime's displeasure, Stark was accompanying him on the ship back to Lannisport, wanting to see Lyanna and meet the children before continuing on to return his family in Winterfell. The Northman did not take to the seas at all well, though tried to hide it, even though his knuckles were white as he gripped the handrail. Jaime was under no doubt that Stark didn't want to talk to him as much as Jaime didn't want to talk to Stark, but with all the sailors busy navigating the rough early spring seas, there was little other option for conversation. Stark didn't seem to like conversation much either, but Jaime supposed it was better than sitting alone feeling like death in his cabin.

"It's a gift," Jaime said with a small smirk. 

"Not for - ?" Jaime's smirk widened as Stark's eyes widened. 

"It's not for Lyanna," He said.

"Who then? Surely your brother wouldn't - "

"It's a nameday gift for Tya," He cut the man off, laughing at his expression. 

"You'd give your five year old daughter an Ironborn sword?" Stark said in disbelief. "Do you _want_ her to have a scar to match your own?" Jaime shrugged.

"She wanted an axe," 

*

"Ned!" Lyanna threw herself into her brother's arms as he and Jaime dismounted upon arriving in the courtyard of Casterly Rock.

"Lya," A rare smile graced Stark's face, as his sister was already dragging him forward to meet the children. Only to see that they weren't behind her where she'd left them. Alarra remained in the arms of the nursemaid, but the twins and Damon had all run immediately to Jaime, and he was assaulted by three small children flinging themselves at him the moment his feet touched the ground. 

"Are you hurt, Father?" Lorcan asked, noticing he winced at the pain in his ribs. 

"Only bruised," He told his son. "Nothing worse than you mother's given me," The boy gave a rare grin, just like his twin's. 

"Did you kill lots of reavers?" Tya asked eagerly. 

"Lots and lots," He assured her. "I got you a present," She mirrored his grin as he unfastened the short, notched sword from his belt, reaching out for it but he held it away from her. "One condition. You only have it when someone's there to stop you impaling yourself on it. Otherwise it stays with me," She nodded solemnly as he fastened it back to his belt. 

"I want a sword!" Damon exclaimed. 

"You're only three," Tya said scornfully. 

"Well you're only a girl,"

"Children," The children all turned as their mother approached, beaming as she led Stark by the arm. "Meet my brother, your Uncle. Ned, this is Lorcan," The boy nodded seriously in greeting, mimicking his grandfather. "Tya," The girl grinned toothily, swinging off Jaime's arm. "And Damon," The boy peered up at Stark from behind Jaime's legs, half in awe. Stark actually smiled as he saw them all, though it was clear the sight of them gathered around Jaime threw him a little. _Of course my own children like me, Stark, no need to act surprised_. 

"Are you Lord Stark?" Damon asked. 

"I am, lad," Stark said surprisingly kindly, leaning down to his level. Jaime remembered the man had two children himself, and wasn't his wife pregnant with a third? Damon grinned. 

"You saved Mother from the tower," He said. "And beat the dragons at the Trident," Stark chuckled.

"That I did, with a lot of help," He said. "But I don't know how much saving your Mother needed. I hear she's quite the fearsome warrior," His words were good humoured, but he did give Lyanna a pointed look, no doubt about the trouble in Lannisport. 

"She is," Tya said proudly. "And Father is the best sword fighter in the Seven Kingdoms," Both Lyanna and Stark looked at Jaime with identically raised eyebrows

"I actually didn't tell her that," He smirked as Tya continued, oblivious.

"I'm going to be even better than Father, when I'm bigger," 

"I don't doubt it," Jaime grinned, clapping his hand on her shoulder. 

"I will too!" Damon protested.

"You're too little," Tya taunted. 

"I'll be as tall as Father one day,"

"Well I'll be _taller_ ,"

"Lorcan will be taller than both of you," Lyanna cut in, making their eldest son smile a little smugly. "He takes after your father. Damon, you're more Stark, you'll be nearer your Uncle Ned's height," Damon considered Stark for a moment. 

"Alright," He shrugged, then gave Tya a mischievous look. "You'll still be smaller,"

"Bloody children," Lyanna threw up her hands in defeat, leading the way inside as Jaime snickered, hoisting Tya onto his hip and resting his hand on Lorcan's shoulder as Damon trailed after Stark, asking countless questions.

"Gods, you've got heavy, girl," He said to Tya, who grinned. 

"I've been eating lots and lots," She said.

"Too much," Lorcan muttered,  "You'll get fat," He gave a small grin when Jaime cuffed the back of his head.

"I told your Mother she was getting fat once," He said idly to his son. "Turned out she was pregnant with you two," Behind him, he heard Stark hastily stifle a snort.

*

The air of the tourney at Lannisport was jubilant. Robert was basking in the glory of his victory over the Ironborn, even though he bemoaned the fact that Stark had left to return North the day after the King and his men arrived. Cersei wasn't there, which Jaime was glad of. He didn't think Lyanna would be able to get through a visit from the queen without mentioning something. Any concerns he had about the King and his wife were for naught, also. Whilst Robert still blatantly desired her, and could be seen staring after her with barely concealed longing when she left, to her face he seemed to have grown up a little, treating her with a courtesy that was slightly more familiar than he acted with the other ladies, but was far better than any alternatives they had experienced previously. _Why, you seemed to have finally earned his respect, little wife_. Threatening to remove the man's fingers with a spoon had, miraculously (hilariously), worked.

Lyanna didn't give Jaime a favour to wear in the joust, she never did. She didn't watch from the stands with the other nobles, either, she was down near the tilts, waiting with him as he prepared to ride in his first match. She held Alarra's hand, whilst Damon and Tya excitedly chattered about how and when he was going to win, and Lorcan idly stroked his grey destrier's flank as he listened to his siblings. Whilst Eddard Stark despised tourneys, his sister seemed to love the excitement and danger, and it seemed the children did too. Even Lorcan, who seemed generally disinterested with fighting unlike his brother and sister, was watching with keen green eyes as his twin whooped and clapped beside him. 

Jaime won match after match after match. Finally he was faced with Ser Jorah Mormont, a newly made knight from the North, who was surprisingly a considerable challenge, riding with steely determination and intense focus. No doubt there was a woman he was riding to impress. Jaime wasn't riding to impress any particular woman - just the rest of the world - which was perhaps why they broke eleven lances before he finally managed to unseat the man. Mormont looked mutinous and ashamed at coming second, but Jaime couldn't bring himself to care. 

Instead of offering the crown of red roses to anyone on the end of his lance, he rode to where Lyanna stood with the children and, getting what he was thinking, she lifted Tya up onto his horse in front of him. He crowned his little daughter Queen of Love and Beauty, riding once around the arena, not bothering to hold the girl on as she was just as natural at riding as her mother (as all the children seemed to be). Tya loved the attention. Of all his children, for all she looked like Cersei, she reminded him the most of himself. Damon was as adventurous, but too sweet and kind. Lorcan shared the same sarcasm, but was too clever and reserved by far. Alarra it was hard to tell, but she was rather shy and quiet, and looked so much like a Stark that it seemed strange to imagine her acting like a Lannister. 

Tya, on the other hand, though like Lyanna in many ways - even Jaime hadn't been that defiant and stubborn as a young child - was more like him; the way the girl grinned at the crowd, delightedly soaking up the attention, as well as smugly enjoying the king's displeasure as Jaime paraded his dark haired, grey eyed Lannister daughter who rode like a Stark and wore a crown of red... that did not come from her mother. Their children were Lannister lions as much as they were Stark direwolves. The blood of the Kings of Winter ran through their veins, as did the blood of the Kings of the Rock. And people would do well not to forget it.

**END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there it is, part two. It took less time to write than I thought, I suppose I already had so many ideas in my head about these two it's just easy to put into writing. I'm already thinking of a part three, so hopefully that will be up fairly soon. Thanks for all the reviews and comments on the previous part, I love receiving them and every one inspires me to write more. I'm glad you all liked it, this is the first fanfic I've actually got around to publishing so I'm grateful for the positive feedback. By all means comment/review if there's any particular scene you want to see in part three, I'm more than happy to include any good suggestions.


	3. The Wolf Of Casterly Rock Part III

Jaime had not been looking forward to this visit to King's Landing. Partly because they were to bring all the children along with them - by royal command, and his father's, which was essentially the same thing - but mostly due to the fact that this was the first time Lyanna would be meeting Cersei in person since she discovered the truth about how they used to be. Neither woman was the type to back down easily, or take an insult lying down, and the two already had a significant mutual dislike between them beforehand; it wasn't going to be pretty however you looked at it.

The journey had not been as bad as he feared, though. Small mercies... The twins were seven, and rode well, as did Damon on his pony. Alarra had a pony of her own too, but most of the time rode with Lyanna as she was rather too young at four years old to make such a long journey on horseback; Damon was only a year older, and therefore he too often rode with Jaime, or one of the guards. Jaime was more than thankful that none of the children were whingers when it rained for most of the journey. It was bad enough trudging on horseback through the mud and puddles; if they'd had to do it with four squalling children in tow, Jaime might just have killed someone. Thankfully, they barely seemed to notice the rain, even when they were soaked through and mud-splattered. That must be their Stark blood showing, used to bloody awful weather. Lyanna didn't seem to mind it much, either, and Jaime had to smile when he saw her cantering through the column of miserable looking guards, a grin on her face even as sheets of rain plastered her hair to her head and made her dress cling to her. During the one thunderstorm they had, her eyes were as wild as the sky itself, vibrant and alive.

No one dared attack a party of Lannister men, so they made it unmolested to King's Landing. Lord Tywin was there to greet them at the top of Aegon's High Hill, as cold and calculating as ever, and after they had dismounted they were taken to the throne room to be presented to the royal family. Robert sat on the Iron Throne, looking as sulky about it as ever; Cersei stood beside him, radiant and beautiful even as she eyed her nieces and nephews disdainfully. Her own children stood beside her. The eldest, Steffon, was the only one that resembled Robert at all, with his dark hair, blue eyes and square jaw. The other three were Lannister through and through, all blonde haired and green eyed; six year old Joffrey, a year older than Damon, Myrcella, a year younger than Alarra and Tommen, a chubby toddler who beamed widely at them all. Despite their looks, Jaime couldn't help but think that his own dark haired twins looked far more like lions than Cersei's golden children.

Introductions were made. The children had been ordered to be on their best behaviour, and even Tya curtseyed like a proper lady - she was quite capable of doing it, when she wanted, and she was in awe enough of the legendary Demon of the Trident to want to - and though Alarra spoke too quietly to be heard, as was her habit in front of strangers, it couldn't be denied that she came across a sweet little girl. The royal children, of course, were the very picture of courtesy, though Jaime did not like something about the look in young Joffrey's eyes. Robert, thank the gods, made no fuss out of greeting Lyanna, though he did scowl slightly when she returned to Jaime's side and he slipped an arm around her waist. The king was genial enough with the children, however, even if they were all unmistakably a mix of Stark and Lannister. 

What disturbed Jaime most about the whole thing was Lyanna's smile as she greeted Cersei; it mirrored the sickly-sweet false politeness his sister did so well exactly. 

It was at the welcome feast that night that the inevitable happened. Jaime was sat beside Cersei, with his wife to his other side, a less than desirable arrangement for everyone involved, which was made even worse when it became clear that Lyanna was out to cause trouble from the start.

"You must love my dear brother very much," Cersei was saying, her voice practically spelling resentment and loathing even though it sounded gracious and polite. "To have so many of his children,"

"We get along. Don't we?" Lyanna turned to him with a wolffish grin. Jaime smirked slightly, taking a sip of wine as his wife continued. "I wouldn't say love, though. We were married because I was spoiled goods and he was the Kingslayer, not for love. Although," Here she shot Jaime a look that made him rather panicked. "It's inevitable, is it not, that a husband and wife grow closer over time. Now, I suppose you could say I love him, well... like a brother, your Grace," Jaime choked on his wine, glaring at the wicked woman even as he coughed. She just kept grinning. Cersei threw him a poisonous look, though he didn't think she realised exactly what Lyanna knew; she was merely angry at him for reacting suspiciously. 

"How charming," His sister said, in a tone that suggested it was anything but. "Jaime seems well pleased with the arrangement," There was slight accusation in her tone, directed at him, but he was beyond caring what she thought of him by this point. 

"He merely puts up with me, I fear," Lyanna's smile remained unchanged. "Such is the nature of a political marriage. I might amuse him, but I'm sure you know Jaime loves himself more than he loves me. Why, I'm sure he would kiss his own reflection, if he was able," Cersei's carefully sculpted expression flickered for a split second in shock.

"So kind for my wife to speak of me like I'm deaf and dumb," Jaime cut across her, laughing for everyone else's benefit but giving her a flat look, which made her grin even more wolffish. "If I am allowed to get a word in, let it be known that I am aware of my own shortcomings, but also that  _dear_ Lyanna has a multitude,"

"Oh, of course," Lyanna said. "I'm rather rude at times, as you've surely seen by now,"

"Yes, I have noticed," Cersei smiled dangerously, though Jaime could read the apprehension on her face behind the poison look as though he was feeling it himself. _Two halves of the same_ \- no. Not anymore. Cersei had said that, and Cersei was wrong. When his sister next spoke, her voice was lowered and twice as sharp. " I suppose it is all I can expect from a wild Northern savage who wormed her way into my family after she was deemed unfit to be queen," Jaime would've expected Lyanna to yell at Cersei there and then for that comment, even slap her, or walk out at the very least. He didn't expect silence. 

"Cersei, stop," He said, and his sister turned her vicious glare in his direction. She was about to turn on him, he could tell, but Lyanna beat her to it. 

"Now, Jaime," His wife smiled coldly, voice icy, twice as cold as Cersei's. "We mustn't speak to the queen like that, it would not be proper. Her Grace's upset is understandable; I know how much she loves her family,"

*

"Are you mad?" They had been walking in silence back to their guest chambers in the Red Keep. The rest of the meal had been spent in the same tense silence. Cersei had left the feast after Lyanna's last remark, and Jaime knew his sister was surely plotting exactly when and how to kill his wife as slowly and as painfully as possible. He himself was angry, angry at Cersei for being Cersei, at Lyanna for being Lyanna, and rather apprehensive too. His sister wouldn't harm him, even now he didn't believe that, but she would enjoy causing Lyanna pain, and - though it disturbed him to admit it, even to himself - he wouldn't put it past her to harm the children in some way either. This woman who claimed to be his sister was not the sister he had once loved. Cersei had once been beautiful, a girl full of fire, ambition and life. Now she was bitter, cruel, hateful. _Or maybe that was how she had always been, and he had been to blind to see it._  

He stood before Lyanna now, as different to Cersei as night was to day, but somehow she reminded him of her a little. _Neither of them bow to any man's will_. The moment the door shut behind them, Jaime rounded on her and she folded her arms, immediately leaping into a fight.

"Don't you say a word," She snapped angrily before he could speak. "I can say what I like. You aren't the kind of husband who likes his wife to be seen and not heard. And even if you were, I wouldn't give a _shit_ ,"

"She's the queen!" Jaime said, unable to understand how she didn't see that.

"She's a vile, poisonous viper in a red gown!"

"I know she is," He ran a hand through his hair. "But she loathed you already. Say what you like, but Cersei is cunning. She'll be plotting and scheming right now for the perfect way for you and your whole family to die, and because she's queen she has the power to do it,"

"That woman doesn't scare me," Lyanna riled at the suggestion.

"She should," He said. "I can't protect you all the time - "

" _Protect_ me?" She laughed incredulously, glaring dangerously. "How dare you even - "

"No, you just fucking _listen_ , for one _fucking_ minute," Amazingly, she fell silent, though her angry glower would surely burn a hole right through him if she did it long enough. "Believe me when I say this is not me thinking you a delicate little wife. But she hated you before, on principal. Now it's personal, she hates you for a reason, and even worse that reason is because you know something that could get her killed then as good as _told her_ about it. Like I said before, _are you mad_?"

"Says the man who fucked his sister," Her silence broke with a vicious vengeance. "I think you're overlooking what caused this in the first place,"

"Will you stop holding that against me?" He exclaimed impatiently. She scoffed in disbelief, opening her mouth, but he cut her off. "You forgave me that, you can't deny it,"

"I said the words," She practically snarled at him, and he laughed in disbelief. 

"Don't pretend to me you _lied_ ," He said mockingly. "You're a Stark, I don't think you can, and besides, I know you. You forgave me that, and we both know it," She was about to yell, he knew, but after a few tense seconds the anger seemed to leave her all at once. She stepped back, lowering her arms, and her glare faded away.

"You're an arse," She said, sounding more weary now. "An arrogant, idiotic, amoral arse. Who fucked his sister. But you're right. I did forgive you,"

"And now?" There was a pause. 

"You're still forgiven," They fell into silence again. "It's not even that she's your sister," She admitted eventually, grudgingly. "Not that that isn't disgusting on every possible count. But quite honestly, she's just a woman you fucked before we were married, which is not exactly uncommon. The reason I'm angry isn't that you fucked your sister, it's just... her," She looked up and met his eyes. "She's genuinely the worst person I have ever met. She's a manipulative, selfish, conniving bitch the way she treats you. Was she always like that?" His mouth opened automatically to defend his sister, the girl he had loved. But then he used his head, and closed it again. 

"Yes," He was surprised by the complete honesty of his own voice. 

*

Jaime stood at the edge of the yard, half hidden in the shadow so few noticed him there.  The twins and Damon were training with the boys and knights of Casterly Rock; Ser Benedict Broom, the Master-at-Arms, was teaching the children to fight, as he had taught Jaime when he was that age. Jaime respected the man not only for that reason, but also because he seemed to completely overlook the fact that Tya was a girl. For all he acted, the twins might as well have both been born boys; there had been a great deal of disapproving muttering from most people when Jaime had allowed his eldest daughter to train with a sword alongside her brother - only with a sword, however, jousting was not allowed, and even that was only because Tya had begged (the girl had her father wrapped around her little finger, he was unashamed to admit) - and there still was discontent even now, two years later. Uncle Kevan far from endorsed this, and Uncle Tygett, before he had died a couple of years ago of illness, had been dead set against it. Gerion would have approved, though; Jaime still mourned his favourite uncle, whose return seemed more and more unlikely with each passing day. Lord Tywin had yet to find out, and Jaime wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. 

He did not regret giving his daughter a sword. So many times when they were younger, Cersei had often complained about being given a needle instead, and she had gradually become more and more resentful of the fact she was born a woman. Jaime did not want that for Tya. She started training aged six, the same time as Lorcan, and surprised everyone by immediately displaying a natural affinity for swordsmanship not unlike Jaime had at that age. On the other hand, Lorcan had started off dreadful, but they had soon discovered that he fought better with his left hand, which was odd as he wrote his letters with his right. Now he was a fair fighter for his age, but had to work hard to be good at it, and though he made no complaints he clearly only did it because he was expected to, rather than because he particularly enjoyed it. His talents lay in intellect and learning, which Jaime supposed was good for the future Lord of the Westerlands, and it wasn't like he was bad with a sword. In fact, he was better than average when he set his mind to it. His sister was just leaps and bounds ahead. Damon had just started to learn, and though it was probably too soon to tell, Jaime suspected that he too would be a gifted swordsman. He was certainly enthusiastic enough, anyway, and he had no such love of books and lessons like his brother. 

He watched the twins now as they stepped up to fight each other. Physically, they were identical. Smooth black hair to their shoulders, the same face, the same height, same lean build. They even wore similar clothes, dark breeches and a cotton tunic. Jaime could easily tell which was which just from their stances, however. Lorcan was more guarded, sharp and wary, assessing his opponent with green eyes that knew his sister better than he knew himself, predicting the move she would make, relying on his intellect as he did in everything else. Tya appeared more casual; she was grinning as she circled her brother, but her grey eyes were just as sharp, except more focused on the best way to attack. It was fascinating watching the twins fight. They were evenly matched in strength and reach (for now anyway) and knew each other so well it was like watching a man trying to surprise himself. In the end, they were so evenly matched otherwise it usually came down to raw skill, and that would always go to Tya. This round was no different. Lorcan took defeat by his sister remarkably well, so well in fact that even the other boys couldn't mock him for it (although that might be down to the fact that Tya beat all of them, too).

Jaime watched as a new boy of around ten scoffed as he was asked to fight Tya next, loudly announcing that he deserved better opponents than little girls, even though the eight year old Tya was of a similar height. Jaime grinned as his daughter answered that by cracking the little shit across the knuckles, making him drop his wooden practice sword with a yelp. Angry, he picked it up again, going straight in for a vicious swipe aimed vaguely at her head; Jaime's daughter easily dodged, had danced behind him before he could blink and had again knocked the sword out of his hand, to gales of laughter from the other boys.

*

He found her at sunset, knelt before the heart tree. The sinking sun was casting a golden light and long shadows over the entire godswood, the summer evening air warm and the sounds of the sea crashing against the base of the cliffs far below. His wife had been there all day, as she was on this day every year. It was the anniversary of the deaths of her father and eldest brother, and though she was otherwise not overly religious, she always spent that entire day before her Northern gods. Her dark head was bowed when he approached, and her face as solemn as her brother Ned's. She didn't look up when he sat on a rock nearby, neither of them saying a word. He had learned not to talk to her when she came here, unless she spoke first. 

Jaime was not a believer in the old gods, or even in the new, really, but even he could appreciate the sacred nature of remaining in silence and just... sitting. It was like another world in the godswood, separate from the castle and its bustle, the noise and shouting of men, the distraction of children. All four of their children had been here at some point in the day - Lyanna made sure that they came one at a time to pray with her on this day, and all of them did - but they were gone now, most likely getting washed and scrubbed before dinner. Only their mother remained, kneeling where she had knelt since daybreak. Jaime knew that her knees would be red, raw and aching by the time the sun finally set and she came inside, and had suggested in the past that she bring a cushion or something to ease the strain, but she had refused every time. She never complained about the pain, or the cold when she did this in the depths of winter, and never shed a tear. Just gritted her teeth and bore it. It made little sense to Jaime, but she did it all the same. Every year since they married, without fail. It was like a penance, though for what he did not know.

"I should - " Her voice was dry and cracked from lack of use all day, but in the silence of the godswood he heard it crystal clear. She broke off, seeming to regret speaking at all, but he had heard her.

"You should what?" They locked eyes for a long moment. He could see the struggle going on within her. Finally, one side seemed to win.

"It's all my fault," Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. The waves far below them were louder. He frowned. 

"You've said that before," He said, but remembered thinking even then that there was more to that. He continued regardless. "And I'll say again what I said then. You couldn't have stopped him, it can't have been your - "

"I could," He stopped, and she closed her eyes briefly. "I could have stopped it," He wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous, and to get inside and let her handmaid bathe her knees, but the words stuck in his throat. 

"How?" He dared to ask. She looked at him imploringly, and he said nothing, offering no way out. She looked away, at the tree, then back at him. 

"I could have said no," Her voice was crystal clear. There was a pause. 

"Do you mean - ?" He broke off as she nodded jerkily. He vaguely noticed her eyes were wet, through the roaring in his own ears. He knew what she meant, she knew he knew, but he had to ask anyway. "He didn't take you. You went with him," Her silence at his accusation said it all. She looked away, furiously wiping at the tears welling in her eyes. He just sat there, watching her, too stunned, too shocked, to speak.

"Harrenhal," She began, with a bitter laugh mixed with a sob. "He helped me," She turned to him with a wry, twisted, humourless smile. "I was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. I'm sure you heard about that," Any other time, he would've laughed until he cried to hear that. Now, he was distracted by the countless things rushing through his head. He let her speak. "The prince found me trying to get out of the armour in the godswood. Aerys wanted the knight dead, of course, you know better than most how paranoid that man was. But Rhaegar helped me hide it, promised not to tell. I didn't believe him, thought he'd blackmail me or something later, or even go back on his word and tell the king. I spent that night sleepless, terrified I'd be dragged from my bed before the king and burned alive for treason. But he didn't go back on his word. He just killed me a different way, with a crown of blue winter roses," She shook her head. "I was furious at the time. Embarrassed, humiliated, angry. I had to defend my honour to Brandon, who was convinced I'd fucked him. Believe it or not, I meant to marry Robert Baratheon at the time. I have honour," The fire in her eyes dared him to say otherwise. "I am a Stark, I do my duty. And Robert was hardly so bad. I had no great trust that he would honour our wedding vows and keep to my bed, but I believe we could have been friends, at least. Even though I wouldn't have been happy. But Rhaegar sullied my betrothal. People called me a whore behind my back, and the Dornishmen as good as spat at my feet for the hurt _he_ had caused Elia. I was furious that a man caused me that pain, it was unnecessary, humiliating, to me and his wife.

"After the tourney, things were worse. Me, Brandon and Benjen went to Riverrun, to spend several months there with Brandon's Tully bride before the wedding. Brandon was still angry, and I was a child. You know me well enough I understand that anger makes me stupid. I suppose I began... considering Rhaegar, just to be defiant. But the more I thought about it, the more attractive he became. He was handsome, his music made me cry, and though he was a reckless fool living in his own world he would surely treat me better than Robert. Harrenhal seemed almost romantic now I had distance from it. Like I said, I was a child. A stupid child," She paused briefly. "After an argument with Brandon, I rode off into the woods, alone. Rhaegar found me. Ser Arthur Dayne was with him, and looked uneasy, though at the time I didn't understand why. Rhaegar spoke to me. Convinced me, filled my head with meaningless pretty words. Said some shit about a prophecy, and loving me more than his wife. I believed it, and I went with him, out of anger and defiance more than anything else. I wanted to choose my own path, even though I knew at the time it was a stupid one. It was having the choice that mattered. I didn't care in that moment whether I loved Rhaegar or not, I just acted. I didn't know that by making that choice, I threw all my others away.

He said we would write to my family and tell them not to worry, which was my main concern after I got cold feet several days later, but he never stopped anywhere where that was possible," She paused again, smiling bleakly. "We only stopped at a Sept," Jaime's blood ran cold at those words. "My son isn't a bastard," She continued, looking straight at the heart tree. "His name is Jon Targaryen, and he was another choice I wasn't allowed to make. I love him despite that, as I love our children," She turned to him, seeing his face. "He has no claim to the throne," She reminded. "Robert won it through conquest, any Targaryens out there are obsolete. But that doesn't change the fact I was Lyanna Targaryen before I was Lyanna Lannister, and I curse that every day,"

"Stark," Jaime mumbled without truly thinking. "You're Lyanna Stark," She gave him an odd look, and her eyes softened for a second, before she cleared her throat and continued. 

"We ended up in Dorne, to some blasted old watchtower in the middle of nowhere, deep into the Red Mountains, and he fucked me every night. I hadn't known where we were going. I suppose I thought King's Landing, but I'd never been there. I knew the tower wasn't right, though. He stayed there a week, with no one else there but me and Dayne. I kept asking to write to my father, but he told me he already had. That was when I knew he was a liar. I outright refused him that night, for the first time," Her eyes darkened. "He ignored it, and fucked me anyway. I heard Dayne arguing with him about it later that night, but he brought up that prophecy again. That was when I realised that he was truly mad. He wanted a third head for the dragon, or something equally insane. Another child, is what he meant. He wanted a Visenya for his Rhaenys and Aegon. And Elia Martell was not up to birthing again. That was why he took me, for his broodmare," There was loathing in her eyes. "Every time he had me after that, whenever I fought him, whenever I screamed and cried, he would always talk about that damned prophecy, I think more to assuage his own guilt than comfort me. He was obsessed. I wanted to go home. When I heard about Brandon being taken prisoner, I got down on my knees and begged him, if you can imagine that," Jaime didn't want to even think of it. "Father and Brandon died, and I think I died inside a little too. War broke out. I had helped to tear the realm apart through my own foolishness, and now innocent people were bleeding, hurting, dying. My sweet, quiet brother was leading a rebellion, he had raised the North, married Brandon's bride, was going up against a dynasty, all to get me back. Rhaegar started to drug my wine, and I started to drink it. He'd have me regardless, was my thinking. I hate what I became then. It wasn't me, it was some shell of a girl who wore the name Lyanna like an ill-fitting gown. Then one day, he left for war and never came back. I dreaded the day my belly swelled, but when it did I felt nothing but love for the child, none of the loathing I felt for its father. I hoped it was a boy just to spite him, prayed for it to be a boy so he wouldn't get his blasted Visenya. Two more Kingsguard arrived to join Dayne, Hightower and Whent, to protect the heir to the throne. I should hate them, but they're just three more dead men. Rhaegar died at the Trident, and I drank to good fortune and cried for my child.

"They didn't send for a Maester, or even a midwife. I was sixteen and scared, I pleaded with them that I couldn't do it on my own, but to them secrecy and security was more important. I told them the baby could die, that I could die, and the Lord Commander looked at me. I remember his words even now - 'the babe will not die, my lady. You have my word on that'. I threw a goblet at him and swore like a sellsword. I saw the riders coming days before they arrived, and I knew Ned was coming. I gave birth as they fought the Kingsguard outside the tower, screamed in blood and agony whilst Northmen fell. I thought I was going to die that day. I've never been more afraid in my life. But I didn't, and neither did Jon. We lived, where Kingsguard knights and soldiers had fallen. Me, Jon, Ned and the crannogman Reed. They buried the men, whilst I lay in a bed soaked with my own blood, and then we rode north. A month later, my son was taken from me and I was your - your wife," She began to cry in earnest now, not bothering to wipe away the tears. "I love him, Jaime, more than anything, as much as I love our children. And he's being raised by another woman, I've barely seen him half a dozen times since I gave him away, and he's _my son_ ," She wept the last two words in anguish. "My son," Her voice was broken, lost, silent tears falling from her eyes and dampening the earth on which she knelt. 

Jaime did not know what to say to any of it. So many revelations, in such a short time, it was too much. Who knew how this would turn out. Once they left this godswood, he did not know what he would do with all she had told him, did not know how she would act around him. For now, though, he said nothing, merely got on his knees beside her in the dirt and held his wife close. At first that made her cry harder, and soon his shirt was completely soaked. He didn't know how long that stayed like that, but the sun had set completely and her tears had run dry by the time they wordlessly got to their feet. He could barely see her face; the clear sunset had given way to a cloudy night, with a sliver of a crescent moon casting the meanest of light down on them.

"I told you, years ago," It was his voice that was hoarse from disuse now. "That when you told me your big secret about Rhaegar Targaryen, I would tell you why I killed his father," She made a strange sound, half hiccup, half snort.

"You did," She said, smiling a weak, watery smile and sniffing. "Today is the day for confessions, I think," She paused for a second. "Gods, I didn't even tell Ned or Benjen that much. He still doesn't know exactly how foolish I was, or that we were married,"

"Well I haven't told anyone this," Jaime said. He probably shouldn't even tell Lyanna, but she had bared her soul to him tonight so he might as well do the same. "Especially not your brother," She waved for him to continue, and he did. He spoke of the atrocities of Aerys, the burnings, the paranoia, the brutal raping of his wife, all of which the Kingsguard were expected to stand by and watch whist doing nothing but protect the king. He spoke of the king's overheard conversations with the pyromancer's guild, of the enormous caches of wildfire hidden beneath King's Landing, and then of the fateful day the Lannister army sacked the city. Aerys' demand to bring him Lord Tywin's head, and his chilling words to Rosshart, burn them all. He spoke of how he'd killed Rosshart, then went to the throne room with a Hand's blood on his sword, ready to kill a king. Aerys had run, but Jaime had been faster, stronger. The last Targaryen monarch had squealed like a pig as Jaime had driven his sword through his back on the steps of the Iron Throne. Kings should die harder than that, he remembered thinking. Then he had sat on the throne, Ned Stark had arrived to claim it for Robert, and he had given it up. All of it. His honoured Kingsguard white cloak, his honour itself, all was gone, and now he was merely the Kingslayer.

*

Jocasta Lannister was born a month or so before the twins turned nine. Where Alarra was almost entirely Stark, their fifth child was almost entirely Lannister. Golden haired like Damon, green eyed like Alarra, fine-featured like the twins, yet with thin Stark lips. Of all her siblings, the baby seemed to be the most like Damon, always smiling and laughing, a very happy child. Alarra had been fairly quiet, whilst the twins had just screamed for most of the first few months.

The birth had been frightening, though. Jaime had been with Lyanna every time she birthed one of his children, and birthing Jo had been something else altogether. With the amount of blood that was there, it was more like being on a battlefield, and the sharp, hurried orders of the head midwife - clearly very concerned, though hiding it well - had made Jaime grip Lyanna's hand almost as hard as she was gripping his. It was long, far too long, almost two whole days. For a very tense few hours, no one had been sure whether the baby or the mother would live. Then the child was born, and Lyanna collapsed back in exhaustion, her eyes closing; the midwife had told Jaime there was bad news, and his heart was in his mouth thinking that she was dying, but all she said was that Lyanna would bear no more children. He could have cried in relief.

Unlike any of the other children, Lord Tywin was in Casterly Rock at the time of Jocasta's birth. Jaime sent a servant to his father's solar to announce the birth of his daughter out of courtesy alone, and to his surprise the messenger returned with his father himself. Lyanna's eyes widened a fraction when the man entered - she was still exhausted, though her maids had cleaned her up and changed her gown - but she hid the surprise rather well considering the ordeal she had just been through.

"I hear the birth was difficult," Lord Tywin addressed her, eyes coldly assessing her without bothering to pretend otherwise. The whole castle had heard. The few times Jaime had briefly left the room to change or eat, he had heard his wife's screams even from the other side of the Rock. He had glared daggers at two servants he heard muttering darkly about this one being 'just like the Lady Joanna'.

"Yes, my lord," She said, to her credit graciously. "I won't bear any more children, I'm afraid," She herself didn't seem to concerned about that (though Jaime supposed five - _six_ \- children was enough for anyone, especially a woman who never wanted any at all) but everyone knew how obsessed with the legacy of House Lannister his father was.

"No matter," Lord Tywin said neutrally, glancing at the baby Lyanna held, who already had a head of thick golden hair. Jaime might have been surprised, but he could imagine why his father was not angered by this; more children was always good, but any more boys than an heir and a spare became a liability - finding positions for younger sons was notoriously trying - and three daughters were more than enough to marry off and forge alliances with. Jaime might have been angry that his father saw his children as nothing more than pawns, but he honestly expected nothing less. "What is the girl's name?" He turned to Jaime.

"Jocasta," He said. "In honour of mother," A strange look crossed his father's face, but he merely made a hum of agreement. From that moment, though it wasn't obvious as he showed little love to any of them, Jocasta became Lord Tywin's favourite grandchild.

*

"Come on, boy, use your brain," Jaime could hear his father's sharp voice as he approached the room. He heard another voice, quieter so that he couldn't make out the words but unmistakably his son's, response. "And then what would you do?" His father asked. Another reply, then a short silence. "Hm. Quite," It wasn't quite a tone of approval, but it was getting there. Jaime knocked then entered the room.

"Father," He nodded to Lord Tywin, sat behind the huge writing desk. Lorcan sat before him, tall and lanky for his nine years of age and looking rather disconcertingly like a combination of his grandfather - in his stiff posture and hard green eyes - and his uncle Ned Stark - in the solemn expression on his face and his dark hair.

"Jaime," Lord Tywin said shortly. 

"How are the lessons going?" He asked.

"As ever, I am questioning how you and the Stark girl managed to create a son who may have a hope of being a competent lord one day," His father replied flatly. Jaime didn't thank him. It wasn't a compliment. The ghost of a smile flickered on Lorcan's face, but he quickly suppressed it. Lord Tywin's eyes glanced at him - he'd seen it - but he said nothing.

"It's beyond me," Jaime said with a careless grin, and his father looked unimpressed.

"Do not take that as a compliment, Jaime," He said sternly. "The others are far less satisfactory," Lorcan glared at his grandfather at that.

"I didn't, do not fear," Jaime smiled wryly. There was a heavy pause.

"As I told you when you were your son's age," His father said. "Your cheek and perceived cleverness impresses no one. Whilst your eldest seems to understand that, it does not seem to have been taught to the others,"

"How so?" Jaime asked, though he knew already. His father would say it regardless.

"Tya is wild and wilful," Lord Tywin said disapprovingly. "Consorting with servants and ruffians, getting into fights and allowed to train with a sword like a boy. It is not fitting for a daughter of House Lannister. She will not make a good wife,"

"She acts properly when necessary," Jaime said flatly. _And she fights with a sword better than any of the boys_. He did not appreciate his father criticising his children. He gave Tya a sword because she reminded him greatly of himself, and if he had not been allowed to fight as a boy it would've destroyed him.

"She acts properly when it suits her," His father corrected. Jaime could not argue with that. "Damon is too much your son. He is reckless, foolishly idealistic and irritatingly attached to honour," Damon was like Jaime in that he often acted impulsively, was talented with a sword and had little patience for mind games and etiquette. He was also very kind hearted, honourable and bravely and stubbornly fought against injustice, about as opposite to Jaime as it was possible to be. This, predictably, led him to disagree with his grandfather on many things.

"Damon is more Lyanna's son than mine," He said. "He looks more like a Stark," Yet another thing that angered his grandfather; apart from his golden hair, Damon's eyes, features and stockier build were all more Stark than Lannister.

"He does," His father said. "Alarra is a mouse of a girl. Plain and dull. She - " Jaime had had enough.

"Alarra is the most well behaved of the five," He said. "Including the baby. She is intelligent and loves to read. She is diligent in lessons - both with the Maester and her septa - courteous to everyone and doesn't run around with swords or get covered in dirt and dust like her sister,"

"The girl barely speaks," Lord Tywin said coldly. _That's because you terrify her, and with good reason, you scared me to death at that age and I was a brazen little shit_. "At least her sister has the ability to be charming," _And beautiful, that's what you meant to say_. Tya had the Stark colouring but the Lannister looks, all beauty and grace despite her wild temperament. Alarra had Lannister green eyes, but her face was long, Stark and solemn, and she was a quiet girl by nature. To Lord Tywin, Jaime's daughters were pawns to be married off to secure alliances. Fewer men would want a serious, plain faced girl than a beautiful, charming one. The idea of any man wanting his little girls made Jaime angry.

*

"Are they nearly here yet?" Tya was impatient, craning her neck to try and see out of the gates. She wasn't the only one. Damon was fidgeting and asking Lyanna much the same questions that Tya had been bothering Jaime with for the past hour or so. Even Lorcan and Alarra were more restless than usual. Lyanna wasn't exactly setting the best example; she was acting worse than Tya.

"Don't ask me, I don't know," Jaime said. "Eowin might, though, ask him," He directed his ten year old daughter to one of the younger guardsmen, one of the ones she often pestered for conversation like she did to many of the staff at Casterly Rock. The poor man didn't know any more than Jaime did, but at least it gave Tya a distraction.

All five children had been in a state of anticipation for weeks, ever since they heard that Lady Catelyn Stark, after visiting her father and brother in Riverrun, would be travelling on to Casterly Rock. Accompanying her would be her eldest son Robb, and his cousin Jon Snow. The twins had seen their cousin and half-brother many times over the years - Lyanna usually made the journey to Winterfell to see her family and firstborn son every year, even though Jaime had only accompanied her a few times - as had Damon and Alarra, who had gone north with their mother ever since they were old enough to ride with her. They all loved their Stark cousins - far more than their Baratheon ones, though they rarely saw Cersei's children despite living half the distance away - and were especially fond of their bastard (or not, as it turned out, but Jaime wasn't telling a soul) brother. Even the one year old Jocasta had picked up on the excitement from her brothers and sisters, and was chattering happy nonsense to Lyanna, who held her on her hip.

The castle had been manic busy for the past few weeks, too. This was not merely a bannerman or minor lord come to visit, this was the wife and heir of the Lord Paramount of the North. The kitchens had been stocking up in preparation, and the servants had been making the whole castle spotless, or more spotless than it already was. Most of this was done under the direction of Aunts Dorna and Darlessa, but Lyanna had been surprisingly (or not, when he thought about it) particular about Jon Snow's room. She insisted he have a proper guest chamber, like his cousin Robb, even though he was a bastard. Because Lord Tywin had returned to King's Landing some months ago, she got her wish.

"Here!" Damon cried as the procession made their way through the gates. Catelyn Stark, as beautiful and austere as ever, rode with her son and his cousin to her right. The boy Robb was almost one and ten if Jaime remembered correctly, and had the Tully look, like his mother, though he held himself like his father. Jon Snow ( _Targaryen_ ) on the other hand, at ten years old, was all Stark. He looked like Lord Eddard in miniature, as he had done the first time Jaime had seen him, although there was a certain litheness to him that could only be from his Targaryen blood. His solemn, brooding expression could be attributed to either side.

Lady Stark attempted a courteous greeting, as did her son Robb acting the proper little lord, but Jaime's children had already run to their cousin and brother, and when Catelyn looked to Lyanna to try and control them, she saw that the woman had already run over to embrace Jon. It was down to Aunt Dorna - as it normally was - to call after them in vain. Lancel, Tyrek and all the other Lannister cousins hung back, never having met the Starks before. Catelyn looked to Jaime, appearing disapproving when he did nothing at his children ignoring their aunt. He merely grinned.

"Lady Stark," He offered her his arm. "Allow me to escort you inside. Best leave them to it, I'm thinking," She allowed herself a small rueful smile and took his arm.

"I always wonder at your children," She remarked as they entered the castle. "At a first glance, they're so perfect," She broke off, looking embarrassed. "Forgive me, Ser. I meant no offence,"

"None taken," Jaime shrugged. "I know exactly what you mean," The twins could be perfect, but only when it suited them. Damon was generally bad at courtesy and had no patience with manners. Alarra was faultlessly polite, but was not the best at conversation beyond the expected courtesies. And Jocasta was a baby.

His children spent the majority of the Stark visit showing Robb and Jon around the Rock. Jaime saw little of them for the three months, if he was honest, except at meals. He could tell Lyanna was rather saddened by Jon not spending as much time with her as he had when she visited Winterfell when he was younger, but that was only to be expected as he grew older. It wasn't like the boy shunned her, either. His face lit up whenever he saw her, and he made no protest when she embraced him or wished to spend time with him. He was constantly asking questions about her to his half-siblings, though not in Lyanna's earshot. Jaime was walking on the battlements one day, and saw Jon sat on the edge, a clearly brooding expression on his face. He might look like a Stark, but that expression was rather like what he remembered of Rhaegar. _Jon Targaryen_.

"You'd better not fall from there," He said, and the boy jumped, eyes widening when he saw Jaime. "I used to jump from the cliffs when I was your age, but even I never went this high,"

"Sorry, Ser Jaime," The boy was polite enough, though Jaime could see he held no love for him and there was a faint hint in his otherwise solemn tone that suggested he didn't really care.

"Dont apologise to me," Jaime snorted. "Just hope your mother never finds out. Imagine how she'd grieve if her firstborn son pitched himself over the battlements," Oddly, a flash of anger appeared on the boy's face. "What?" Jaime asked, and Jon looked away. "No, I saw that. What is it?" 

"It's not like I'm her real firstborn," The boy said grudgingly, rather bitterly. "That's Lorcan and Tya,"

"They're my firstborn children, yes," Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Not Lyanna's,"

"But they get to live with her," Jon looked up at Jaime. "They know her. She has to love them more. Which is right," He added hastily, remembering who he was talking to. "Lady Stark says that it's only proper for Lady Lannister to put her trueborn children first," If only she knew... _Jon Targaryen_. "They'll be lords and ladies, and I'm just a bastard," Definitely bitter. It was quite clear from that that whilst Ned Stark might act like a father to his nephew, his wife was no mother to her goodsister's bastard son.

"That may well be," Jaime shrugged. "You're still her son," He couldn't believe he was comforting the boy. He did look a lot like Lyanna, only with a lean, elegant build that certainly didn't come from the Starks. "She loves you as much as she loves my children, no matter what Lady Stark says," Jon considered that in silence. "Stop brooding," Jaime advised him. "You look too much like your father," The boy turned in anger, but he was already walking away, back to Lyanna and his children.

The day the Starks left, Lyanna embraced Jon as she always did, hugging him tightly and fighting back tears. Jaime watched as the boy eyed her even as she held him, seeming amazed that it was his mother's arms around him. Jaime hadn't told Lyanna what Jon had said about Catelyn Stark; she was better off not knowing. At least the boy wouldn't grow up a pampered little prince like his father. At least he had some sense, and a care in the world for others. Jaime doubted that Jon Snow was the type to rip a kingdom apart for his own sake. They had no need for another Targaryen in Westeros.

*

"What are you doing?" Jaime stared at his eldest daughter, who was suspiciously holding her little sister's hand as she walked along with one of her friends - friends as in some poor sod shed picked to tag along with her for the day - in this case it looked like one of the cook's boys. Tya had very little time for Jo - it varied, actually, sometimes she was fascinated and treated her like an interesting beetle, whilst at others she hated even the sound of her sister's breathing - but this was odd in itself, both of them out without a nursemaid or septa. The boy with her blanched at the sight of Jaime, stumbling into a clumsy bow with a muttered 'm-m-milord', which he ignored. 

"Taking Jo for a walk, Father," She had Cersei's smile, and Cersei's innocent look which Jaime could see right through immediately.

"No you're not,"

"No, I'm not," Tya had remarkably even less patience than his sister, though, and saw no point sticking with a lost cause. "I'm taking her to see the cliffs," She was good, that one almost had him; unreasonable and dangerous enough for him to believe it, but not entirely outrageous.

"No you're not," He raised an eyebrow. "What's that in your cloak?" His ten year old daughter scowled, pulling out a long, lethal looking dagger. He snatched it off her easily, and she made an angry protest. Beside her, the two year old Jo giggled, chattering happily in half-intelligible words. The cooks boy looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Jaime took pity on him, waving him away with his hand; the boy practically ran.  When he had gone, and Jaime's stare had not lessened, Tya finally gave in.

"I'm teaching her to fight," She said sulkily. "I thought it would make her more interesting, so she doesn't turn out boring like Alarra,"

"She's a bit young for daggers," Jaime said flatly. "You are, too. Where did you get this?"

"Stole it off a guard,"

"Of course," He wasn't sure what to say to that. There was a pause. It was never normally down to him to deal with Tya's trouble. "You know I can't give it back,"

"What?" She exclaimed indignantly. 

"You're surprised?" He said in disbelief. "I'll need the baby back, too," 

"You can have _her_ ," Tya let go of her sister with a look of disdain, nudging her back so she toddled forward, clinging to Jaime's legs. "She's useless," He hoisted her up on his hip, as he had done with Tya not so long ago. His eldest daughter turned on her heel and marched off in a storm of dark hair and scowling. She was only ten, he reflected with some horror. Cersei had only gotten worse as she grew older. Gods only knew what Tya would be like; Tya could use a sword.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I want to do a second part to this. I've thought out their entire lives together (they have three more children for a start, and Lorcan and Tya grow up to be quite interesting characters). I also wanted them to open up to each other about Cersei and Rhaegar - that wasn't really the point of this part, the point is that it's not a perfect, loving relationship - but it's just finding the time to write it. This alone took far too long. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.


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